


The Landings at Valle del Sol.

by steeleye



Series: 1812 World. [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:12:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Corsican dies nine years early; the USA losses a war and everything changes. In 1949 a Commando raid on a sleepy Californian town brings some familiar characters together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Landings at Valle del Sol.

By Steeleye.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim authorship or ownership of any recognisable characters or situations featured in this work of fiction. Opinions expressed by characters are NOT necessarily those of the author. I write these stories for fun not profit.

 **Crossover:** None.

 **Spelling, Grammar and Punctuation;** Written in glorious English-English, which is different to American-English. Also please excuse my appalling Spanish.

 **Timeline:** 1949 Alternate Universe.

 **Words:** Seven chapters of 3500+ words.

 **Warnings:** Some strong Language and some scenes of a possibly adult nature

Summary: A Corsican dies nine years early; the USA losses a war and everything changes. In 1949 a Commando raid on a sleepy Californian town brings some familiar characters together.

0=0=0=0

**The Pacific Ocean, just before dawn; 1st November 1949.**

Darkness lay over the Pacific Ocean as the warships of Force ‘V’ steamed steadily southwards. Blacked-out, their presence only betrayed by the whiteness of their bow waves and the phosphorescence of their wakes. Their radars scanned the horizon for any vessel that might spot them and give away their position; while destroyers dashed about like excited terriers from one location to another in their never ending search for submarines. Aboard the great aircraft carriers crewman worked in the predawn darkness to bring aircraft up on deck in preparation for the dawn airstrikes. These would pummel the Imperial Mexican Air Force’s bases around Los Angeles and distract the Mexican military from the real target of Force V’s attack.

Aboard the Commando Carrier HMS Bulwark paratroopers and commandos made their final preparations; checking weapons, drawing extra ammunition and ‘blacking up’, an act which always coursed a certain amount of amusement amongst the troops. Deep within the bowels of the converted aircraft carrier General Simon Fraser, 15th Lord Lovat (known as ‘Shimi’ to his friends) stood up and turned to face his battalion commanders for a final briefing.

“Good morning gentlemen,” he called cheerfully to the assembled officers. 

Lovat was a tall man with handsome features who still radiated health and extreme fitness even though he was approaching his fortieth year. There was a muttered chorus of groans and ‘good mornings’ in reply from the officers gathered in the briefing room.

“As I’m sure you gentlemen are aware,” the General grinned at the more bleary eyed officers, “but I’m going to explain everything again anyway.” There was a murmur of amusement from the body of the briefing room. “Operation Thunderbolt is in retaliation to continual Mexican agitation of the Red Indian tribes in Oregon Territory. This has resulted in attacks on the foreign population in Portland and acts of sabotage as far north as Seattle in King George Province.”

“At a very basic level,” continued the General, “Operation Thunderbolt is an exercise in ‘frightfulness’ to teach the Imperial authorities not to pull the tail of the Commonwealth lion.” there were mutterings of agreement from the soldiers and marines. “I’m sorry it’s had to come to this but the Mexicans have brought this on themselves…and we’re here to show them that the British Commonwealth is not to be trifled with.”

“Alright then gentlemen,” Lord Lovat turned on a switch and a spotlight illuminated a large scale map of the target area, “this, as I’m sure you will all recognise by now, is our target; the town of Valle del Sol…which I think translates as ‘valley of the sun’?” 

The general looked at one of his staff officers for confirmation; the man nodded his head. 

“In just under,” Lovat checked at his watch, “forty minutes Colonel Frost’s 7th Para will be flown by helicopter to block these routes leading in and out of Valle del Sol to the north and south.” The general pointed to several roads on the map, “While this is happening the Fleet Air Arm will launch attacks on the airfields around Los Angeles here, here and here.” 

Lovat pointed to several obscure locations around the Mexican seaport. 

“At the same time air attacks will be launched on the submarine base here at San Diego.” Lovat indicated a town south of Los Angeles, “With any luck these attacks will throw the Mexican forces in the area off balance and confuse them as to our actual target. Once the aircraft have recovered to the carriers and rearmed and refuelled, we can launch our main attack.”

The general went on to detail the main part of the plan; but, before dismissing the officers back to their units he had one last point that he wanted to make.

“Although, as I’ve said, this is an exercise in ‘frightfulness’ we are not going to act like barbarians.” Lovat watched the faces of his officers. “I must stress that civilian casualties and collateral damage must be kept to a minimum. This is particularly true for the units detailed to attack the university. While I expect to hear that the labs and research facilities have been destroyed I do not want to hear of piles of dead students and burning libraries. I would rather you abort your missions than risk excessive civilian casualties, do I make myself clear?” 

Once again the general studied the faces of the men under his command, and nodded to himself. They would all do their jobs with the usual high level of professionalism that he expected from them.

“Any final questions?” he looked around the room, there were none, “Right then it just remains for me to wish you good luck and good hunting.”

As the meeting broke up Captain Charles, the General’s aide came up behind him and whispered in his ear. The General, who had been talking to the C/O of the Royal Navy Commando whose unit had been assigned to attack the docks, turned and nodded to his aide before making his excuses and leaving the room. There was one more small group of people he needed to speak to before the events of the day got too hectic for him to spare the time.

“Right you are Johnny,” Lovat gestured to his aide, “lead the way.”

0=0=0=0

Studying the photograph of the blonde teenage girl Faith Lehane gave a derisive snort, her shoulder length, dark brown, curls bounced unfashionably around her face as she shook her head in disgust. Her eyes searched out the elder of the four people she was at present sharing the compartment with.

“So this Mex bitch has been screwing a ‘vore, right?” she tossed the photo aside and went back to checking her weapons.

“I don’t know about the shagging,” Sergeant Blair, a stocky dark haired man in his late twenties, looked up from the magazine he was loading, “but our sources say she’s been in a relationship with this particular bloodsucker for some time.”

“Disgusting is what I call it,” this came from Constable Weatherby a tall prematurely balding man in his mid thirties, he checked the action of his sniper’s rifle as he spoke, “she’s betraying 'er sacred heritage…just shows these dagos can’t be trusted.”

“Oh come on John,” Constable Amy Collins spoke up from across the compartment, “she’s just a kid…”

At twenty-five Amy was the youngest member of the Nightwatch Covert Action Team (apart from Faith) and one of the organisation’s few female operatives. 

“That’s no excuse,” Hobson, a heavy set man in his late twenties said as he fitted a full magazine into his rifle, “Miss Faith here wouldn’t let a ‘sucker touch her like that, would you Miss?”

“Jeez no-way!” Faith gasped as she pushed her hair up under the black cap-comforter she wore, “I don’t understand why he hasn’t tried to turn her yet.”

“Maybe he’s got a cunning plan?” suggested Hobson with a grin, everyone smiled at the reference to the popular radio show.

“Whatever,” Faith stopped what she was doing and looked at the other members of her team; slowly everyone halted their preparations and settled down as they felt her eyes on them. “Look whatever the reason, we’ve got to capture or neutralise this ‘El Asesina de Demonios’ asap before this ‘vore can put any cunning plans into action, okay?”

Once again everyone smiled at the idea of a ‘cunning plan’ but not as widely as before; they all knew that ‘neutralise’ meant kill. It’d been explained to them that Nightwatch command would much prefer a live prisoner, but when push came to shove they’d make do with a dead one. The Imperial Mexican authorities had arrested one of their ‘Special Operatives’ and they needed something to use in an exchange to get their girl back; if they couldn’t use a live La Asesina de Demonios they’d find something else the Mexicans wanted.

“Ya got the tranq’ Trev?” Faith looked over to where her sergeant sat; he picked up a small wooden box and nodded his head, “Okay ya might as well hand it out.”

The NCO opened the box and handed each team member a glass syringe with a long needle. Each syringe containing a mixture of muscle relaxant and tranquilliser that would knock the Asesina de Demonios out and make it possible for the team to capture her. Checking the cork on the end of the needle, Faith slipped the syringe into the specially reinforced pocket on her equipment harness. 

There was a noise from the companionway outside, looking up Faith watched as someone knocked on the door and a tall, handsome, senior officer walked into the compartment. Everyone except Faith sprang to attention; she was a ‘Special Operative’ she didn’t have to stand to attention for anyone…well maybe the King.

“As you were,” Lord Lovat looked around the room at the five black clad commandos, “just thought I’d pop down and wish you all good luck.”

There was a chorus of ‘thank-yous’ from the team as Faith looked the officer up and down; she saw a tall fit man in his late thirties. An amused, devil-may-care smile played around his lips and a piratical sparkle glinted in his eyes. In spite of herself Faith was impressed. The things she’d read in the lurid war comics she favoured as reading material, seemed to be true, she stepped forward and held out her hand to the man.

“Honoured to meet ya, your Generalship,” Faith smiled impishly at the General thinking if he was just a little younger how she wouldn’t mind getting up close and personal with him at some point.

“The honour’s all mine Miss Lehane,” he shook her hand warmly, “I’ve heard of your work…very impressive.”

Blushing Faith shrugged her shoulders, “Y’know, ya do what ya can,” she mumbled.

Being a little embarrassed at the complement Faith found herself feeling like a schoolgirl being shown off to the board of school governors; ‘most impressive’ was high praise from the man who had been first ashore at Oostende back in ‘44 at the end of the German War. Faith felt her ears turn red.

“Anyway,” the general continued as he shook hands with the rest of her team, “as I say I just came down to wish you luck. I won’t detain you any longer I know you’re busy.” He turned to go, as he stepped over the door combing he stopped and looked back directly at Faith.

“I was wondering Miss Lehane,” he gave her a full power smile; Faith felt her knees turn to jelly, “if you might like to have dinner with me one evening when we get back to Vancouver?” 

“Hey, yeah, sure…why not?” Faith found herself stuttering, she didn’t get asked out to dinner by a real live Lord every day.

“Jolly good then,” as the General made his way out of the compartment he called over his shoulder, “I’ll arrange something.”

“Thanks,” was all Faith could think of saying as she found herself facing the grins of her comrades, “What?” she asked turning away to fiddle with her equipment.

“Faith’s got a boyfriend,” Amy chanted in a sing-song playground voice once she guessed the general was out of earshot.

“Look,” Faith replied defensively, “maybe he just wants to talk?” 

“Yeah right,” nodded Blair.

“Why, of course,” agreed Weatherby.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” added Hobson

“Should we start calling you ‘Lady Faith’ now?” Collins curtsied in Faith’s direction.

Glaring at her friends and comrades, Faith felt her face flush red again; but what the hell, she thought, getting asked out to dinner by a real live Lord wasn’t bad for the daughter of a prostitute from the Boston slums.

0=0=0=0

**Fuerza Aérea Imperial Mexicana base at Camarilla; 05:52.**

Having had the poor luck to be Officer of the Day, twenty-three year old Lt Fidel Castro FAIM, was lying on his bunk more or less fully dressed when the first aircraft flew over the base at tree top height. Scrambling to his feet he looked with sleep blurred eyes out of his window to see an unfamiliar aircraft fly low over the base. At first he wondered who the hell could be flying today of all days? Most of the base was on local leave for the holiday and Colonel Fernandez (the base commander) would no doubt have a fit when he saw someone recklessly flying over his base. The colonel would also, no doubt, be annoyed at having his ‘sleep’ disturbed. Any uncharitable thoughts about his commanding officer and what he and his new, young wife might be doing were banished from Fidel’s mind when the fuel storage tanks exploded.

“Madre de dios!” Fidel stumbled back from the window as he felt the heat of the explosion on his face from two kilometres away.

Turning towards the door he nearly tripped over his own feet as he grabbed for his flying jacket and flying helmet. He rushed out of the little Orderly Officer’s room on the ground floor of the BOQ, and sprinted down the corridor towards the exit. Several other young officers, woken by the explosion burst out of their rooms and into the passageway.

“What’s going on?” one demanded as Fidel ran by.

“Grab your gear we’re under attack!” he called back over his shoulder as he ran out into the open.

Standing on the neatly tended lawn outside the BOQ, Fidel looked up into the sky and ducked instinctively as two aircraft flew over, they were almost cutting the grass with their propellers they were so low. There was a long burst of canon fire from the aircraft and the neat line of fighters parked on the edge of the runway exploded and started to burn.

Looking around in near panic Fidel started to run towards a fighter parked close to a hanger about fifty metres away. By some miracle the base’s attackers hadn’t seen it yet and some ground crew had managed to get the engine started and were frantically looking around for a pilot. A corporal, who appeared to know what he was doing, saw Castro run towards him and shouted to the officer as he got closer.

“She’s got full loads of fuel and ammo sir!” he helped Fidel up onto the aircraft’s wing, “Good luck!” he called and took his place by the wing ready to pull the chocks from under the aircraft’s wheels.

Settling himself into the seat of the La-9, Fidel strapped himself in and slid the canopy closed. Easing the throttle forward he felt the aircraft strain against the chocks, releasing the brakes he signalled to the corporal and found himself bouncing down the runway. With his heart in his mouth and expecting to meet a fiery end at almost any moment, he nursed the fighter into the air. Quickly he brought up the undercarriage and tried to gain airspeed and altitude as fast as he could.

Out of nowhere an aircraft flashed by him; in an instant he saw the dark grey upper surfaces and the white underside. His eyes focused on the red, white and blue roundels on the wings; the British? More by instinct than by any conscious thought Fidel’s thumb mashed down on the firing button on his control stick. His aircraft juddered as his four 23mm canon blasted away at the intruder. He saw pieces fly off the British aircraft as it started to trail smoke and bank steeply away to the right.

Remembering to relax his thumb and stop firing Fidel put his aircraft into a gentle right hand turn; he was still too low and hadn’t picked up sufficient airspeed to gain much in the way of height. Very slowly the La-9 picked up some speed and he was able to gain a few hundred metres altitude and see what was happening. The air base was a sea of smoke and fire; he could see swift shapes dart in below him from the direction of the sea as they bombed and strafed the workshops and hangers. Not seeing any other Mexican aircraft in the air and no anti-aircraft fire Fidel decided he must do what he could for honour’s sake.

Picking a target he jockeyed in to get behind the intruder as it jinked from side to side and tried to lose the Mexican fighter. Just as he was drawing a bead on his foe his aircraft started to shake and fall apart. It was as if some giant was smashing his fighter to pieces with an enormous hammer. There was a horrible ‘CLANG!’ as a shell hit the armour plate that made up the back of his seat, his controls exploded in a flash of sparks and smoke and Fidel realised that his aircraft was doomed as the cockpit filled with black acrid smoke.

Pushing back the canopy he pulled the La up into a stall and jumped out into the smoke tainted sky. Moments later he found himself floating slowly towards the ground under his parachute; he watched as his La nosed into the ground and exploded. Glancing around he saw the aircraft that had shot him down…a jet. The pilot of the sleek little craft waggled his wings at Castro before zooming off out to sea at five hundred knots.

0=0=0=0

**Valle del Sol, the Summers’ house, 07:30.**

Yawning hugely Buffy Summers reached out and silenced her alarm clock; there was a quiet ‘ding’ and a tinkle of breaking parts as the spring escaped from the back of the clock and it broke into a hundred pieces.

“Darn!” Buffy muttered as her head fell back onto her pillow, “Another clock destroyed!”

Rolling out of bed she looked down at the cogs and springs of her latest victim and sighed. One day her mom and dad were going to notice just how many alarm clocks she got through in a month. After sweeping the bits into her little rubbish bin she stumbled out into the corridor and headed for the bathroom before her little sister got there ahead of her.

Buffy lived in a well-to-do, leafy, middle-class suburb of Valle de Sol, with her mom, dad and her little sister Dawn. She went to school with her friends Willow and Xander at the local high school where she was an unremarkable pupil (apart from some minor discipline problems). In every respect she appeared to be a typical Anglo-Mexican girl who liked going to the movies and who out went dancing on Friday and Saturday nights. It just went to show how first impressions could deceive; Buffy Summers was in fact the ‘Asesina de Demonios’ and lived a secret life fighting the creatures that preyed on humanity. But not tonight, tonight was the first day of the ‘Día de los Muertos’ holiday and tradition had it that the forces of evil took the holiday off and stayed home.

Unfortunately her good mood was spoilt by the knowledge that she still had to go to school today. Tomorrow everyone was on holiday so they could enjoy the carnival in the town’s main plaza in front of the cathedral. Tonight she intended to go out with Willow and Xander and raise a little hell of her own. 

“Buffy are you up yet?” her mother cried from downstairs in the kitchen.

“Si Mama,” Buffy called, “I’ll be down soon.”

Her mother and father both spoke English at home as did Buffy. Being quite fluent in both English or Spanish, Buffy had spoken both languages since she was little; she spoke Spanish at school and a strange polyglot mixture of English and Spanish (often referred to as Espanglish) with her Anglo friends. Her little sister Dawn spoke mainly Spanish saying that English was only for ‘squares’. It was a sign of the times; Buffy thought sadly, if she ever lived long enough to have children of her own she expected they would only speak Spanish.

Having finished getting washed and dressed, Buffy skipped downstairs to the kitchen, and kissed her mother good morning before glaring at Dawn who was sitting at the breakfast bar still dressed in her night things; she didn’t have to go to school today, Junior High schools got the day off.

“Mama!” Dawn whined, “Buffy’s staring at me tell her to stop.”

“Buffy,” Joyce Summers turned to her eldest daughter and gave her a mock frown, “stop staring at your sister you know now it upsets her.”

Smiling at her mother Buffy cut a bagel in half and started to spread it with jelly and pieces of banana. Her mother put a cup of coffee in front of her daughter and switched on the radio that sat on the counter by the oven. The announcer was talking very excitedly about unidentified aircraft and explosions around Los Angeles.

“Where’s dad?” Buffy asked around a mouthful of bagel.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Joyce replied absently, “he had to go into work this morning but he’ll be home by the time you get back from school.”

Buffy’s father was a manager of a company that sold typewriters and adding machines, his work kept him busy and Buffy didn’t get to see him as much as she’d like to. She loved both her parents and tried to be a good daughter, but, being La Asesina de Demonios made it very difficult at times.

“Good…” there was the sound of a beeping car horn from the front of the house; Buffy glanced at the kitchen clock, “Good grief! That’ll be Xander and Willow,” she jumped off her stool, “gotta go!”

Kissing her mother and giving her sister a pinch she headed for the front door.

“Have a nice day at school honey!” Joyce called after her eldest daughter while her youngest rubbed at the rapidly developing bruise on her arm.

0=0=0=0

Clutching her books to her chest Buffy opened the front door and rushed down the garden path, her friend Xander stood by the open door of his beat up old wreck of a car. Today he was wearing his militia uniform of light khaki shirt, trousers and cap.

“My-my,” Buffy smiled up at him as she drew level, “you do look smart.”

“Why thank you Senorita,” Xander gave Buffy a small bow, he looked down at his uniform, “‘Le Supremo’ wanted everyone in uniform today and…I’m told girls always go for a man in uniform.” He gave Buffy a longing look that she totally failed to notice.

Xander was a member of the school’s Combined Cadet Force run by the school principal Señor Snyder, who was better known as ‘El Supremo’ to all his students.

“Hi Buffy,” Willow, Buffy’s best friend stuck her head out of the car and grinned up at her, “it’s like having a military escort.”

“Yeah,” Buffy climbed into the car next to the red-haired girl, “if the military drove beat up old wrecks that is!”

“Oh come on Buffy,” Willow frowned slightly, she was madly in love with Xander a fact that he didn’t seem to notice, “Xander tries his best.”

The three teenagers made up the strangest of love triangles; Willow loved Xander, who in turn loved Buffy, who in turn loved someone completely different.

“Yeah I know,” Buffy watched as Xander ran around the car and jumped into the driver’s seat, “well done Xander,” Buffy patted him on the shoulder, “your efforts are much appreciated. Now do you think it’ll get us to school?”

There was a moment of apprehension as Xander turned the ignition and the engine refused to catch, however, after the third of forth attempt the engine burst into life and they headed on down the road in a cloud of exhaust smoke. As the old car rattled and banged along the street and Willow babbled on about this and that; but Buffy couldn’t help frowning, she held up her hand for quiet, or as much quiet as you could get in the back of Xander’s car.

“Hey guys,” she looked at her friends a puzzled look on her face, “can you hear thunder?”

0=0=0=0


	2. Chapter 2

2.

**HMS Bulwark, 06:00hrs.**

Jogging across the flight deck Faith took a moment to look around; the carrier was steaming at full speed into the wind to help the helicopters get airborne. Lines of paratroopers ran towards their choppers and clambered aboard lugging their kit behind them. Glancing towards her own aircraft she saw Blair wave her on. With a wave of her own hand in acknowledgement she ran the last dozen yards to the aircraft and clambered into its dark interior. The load master pointed to a canvas seat against the fuselage wall and signalled to her that she should strap herself in.

Sitting down and buckling the strap across her lap Faith felt the familiar lurch in the pit of her stomach as the helicopter took off. Holding her Tommy-gun, muzzle down, between her knees she felt for the comic book in the map pocket on her left leg. Unbuttoning the flap she pulled out the pulp-paper pages and started to read; she smiled at the monsters that the comic book pictures portrayed and wondered what the artists would do if they ever came face to face with any of the real monsters that roamed the planet…die horribly she imagined.

Faith had never been a great reader, apart from the comics which she devoured at a prodigious rate; she’d been brought up (if those were the right words) in the wrong part of Boston, capital of the Commonwealth of New England. Her mother had been a prostitute who’d worked the docks until the night she’d been stabbed and killed by a drunken sailor. Faith had spent most of her young life being shuttled from one relative to another. Then when she’d been about fourteen the men from Nightwatch had come to her school to test the girls to see if any of them had been ‘touched by Herne the Hunter’ as the saying went. Leaving the school the same day without a backward glance, Faith still considered that day to have been the best day of her life up until that point.

Looking up Faith was just in time to see the helicopter pass over the coast and start to head inland. Again her stomach lurched as the chopper lost height rapidly to confuse any anti-aircraft gunner who might be looking in their direction. But no hail of flak greeted them and the helicopter sped on towards its objective. 

The plan called for Faith and her team to land on Buffy Summers’ house and drag her from her home and be off back to the Bulwark before anyone was any the wiser. The load master made the signal for ‘five minutes to target’. Putting the comic back into her pocket Faith did one final equipment check. Her hands touched on pieces of kit as she listed them in her mind; pistol, Tommy-gun, spare magazines, commando knife, grenades, garrotte, plastic explosive, fuses, chocolate and finally, condoms; well, a girl had to be prepared for all eventualities…right?

The red light next to the door started to flash and the load master signalled ‘unstrap’. Flicking the quick release of her seat belt Faith pulled a magazine from an ammunition pouch and slipped it into her Tommy-gun. Blair stood in the door with a breaching charge in his hands with Collins hanging on to the back of his harness to steady him. Exchanging thumbs-up with Hobson and Weatherby, Faith felt the excitement she always experienced rise from her stomach and into her chest. She couldn’t help grinning, in fact she was grinning so hard that it hurt her face. Soon, she promised the warrior that lived inside her; soon we’ll be in combat.

Tossing the charge onto the roof of the house, Blair was jerked back into the chopper by Collins. The aircraft surged upwards only to drop just as quickly, a second or two later, back towards the roof through the smoke caused by the breaching charge exploding. The rotor wash blew the smoke down into the suburban gardens as Faith dropped from the helicopter through the hole in the roof and into the loft. Her legs bent as they took the shock of her landing, her feet perfectly placed on the joists that held up the ceiling. 

Judging the joists to be far enough apart so she could fit between them Faith jumped up and spun around in mid-air; she brought her feet together and smashed through the plaster-board ceiling. Landing on the floor of a bedroom in a cloud of dust and smashed plaster she registered movement from the direction of the bed. A man fought with the bedclothes as he tried to get up and confront the apparition that had so violently appeared in his bedroom. Stepping forward Faith brought the butt of her Tommy-gun up and used it to hit the man squarely between the eyes. Watching as his eyes rolled up into his head, Faith smiled as he fell backwards to lie unconscious across the bed. A woman’s screams split the air even over the sound of the helicopter’s rotors, Faith pointed her Tommy-gun at the middle-aged woman who was holding the sheets up to her chest and screaming about devils and murderers..

“SHUT-UP!” Faith snarled as she headed for the door, the woman shut-up and watched her go by with wide terrified eyes.

Blair dropped through the hole in the ceiling followed swiftly by Collins; this all proved too much for the woman who fainted clean away. Lifting her foot Faith kicked the door off its hinges and then checked the corridor for threats. Starting down the passageway she kicked open doors as she went. Blair and Collins went off in the opposite direction checking the other rooms. It only took a few moments for them realise they were in the wrong house.

“WE’RE IN THE WRONG FUCKING HOUSE!” Faith yelled at Blair over the noise of the helicopter that was still hovering above the house.

“WHAT NOW?” Blair shouted into Faith’s ear.

Thinking quickly Faith told Blair to wave the helicopter off; they still had a mission to complete and they’d have to make it up as they went along, just like they normally did. The helicopter flew off into the distance as Hobson and Weatherby dropped through the hole in the ceiling to join them in the corridor. Now that the chopper was gone Faith could hear the screams of children and the groans coming from the master bedroom where the adults were starting to come around.

“What now boss?” Blair clutched his Tommy-gun across his chest.

“First,” Faith held up her fingers and counted off the points as she made them, “we need to find out where we are. Second we need transport and third we need to get out of here!” gathering up her team up with her eye she headed downstairs towards the backyard.

0=0=0=0

**HMS King George V, 12,000 yards off Valle del Sol, 08:05 hrs.**

Watching the great gun turrets swing towards their targets Admiral Sir Hank Harwood nodded with approval. This would probably be the last time that the old KG5 would fire her guns in anger. It would be a pity that she had to bow out like this and not after some great naval engagement; but times changed and the day of the battleship was well and truly over.

Listening with half an ear to the orders being passed to the gunnery control centre by the Gunnery Officer, he swept the coast with his binoculars. There was the port of Valle del Sol with a half dozen cargo ships tied up at the wharfs. They weren’t the big ship’s targets today; the port was being left to the Commandos. No, the battleship’s targets today were the Mexican army barracks on the northern edge of the town. The two great turrets forward of the bridge came to a halt and the gun barrels elevated, for a moment all was silent on the bridge.

“Permission to commence shore bombardment sir?” the gunnery officer asked his Captain.

“Admiral?” the KG5’s captain stood next to Sir Hank and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Carry on Simon,” Sir Hank put his binoculars to his eyes to watch the bombardment.

“SHOOT!” the gunnery officer called into his phone and the world exploded as the KG5’s twelve sixteen inch guns fired in unison.

0=0=0=0

**Valle del Sol High School, 08:23hrs.**

“Padre Giles!” Buffy called as she burst into the library, the swing doors closing behind her nearly hitting Xander and Willow as they followed her in, “what the he…heck’s going on?”

Arriving at school Xander had parked his car in the student’s parking lot, as the three friends had walked towards the school building they’d seen columns of smoke rising into the sky from somewhere in the northern part of the town. There had also been muffled explosions and a sound like an express train passing in the distance. As they had walked into the building they had seen staff and pupils casting worried and confused looks skywards.

Padre Giles was Buffy’s confessor; he also directed her work for the Congregación Sagrada Suprema de la Oficina Santa who had been charged by the Holy Father in Rome with prosecuting the war against Satan’s agents. Of course in this modern day and age everyone knew that vampires and demons weren’t supernatural, but the old ways died hard; particularly if they appeared to work.

“Buffy!” Padre Giles dashed out of his little office in a state of high agitation, “thank God you’re alright,” he glanced over to where Xander and Willow stood uncertainly by the door, “and you two as well.”

“Like Buffy said,” Xander walked towards the priest and winced at the sound of something big passing over the school, “what the heck’s happening? Are we under attack or something?” he put a protective arm around Willow’s shoulder.

“Yes!” Padre Giles brushed dust from his clerical suit, “The God forsaken British have launched a completely unprovoked attack on Valle del Sol!”

Nodding her head, Buffy knew a ‘party line’ when she heard it; she relaxed a little and went to sit in one of the chairs surrounding the big table in the middle of the room.

“So,” she looked up at the priest, “nothing evil this way comes?”

“Only the cursed British,” agreed Giles as he moved to join Buffy, “The military authorities say they are unlikely to land this far north. However, he turned towards Xander, “Señor Snyder is calling for all militia cadets to report to the armoury…just in case you understand.”

“Right,” Xander straightened his shoulders, “I better be gone,” he looked at Buffy expectantly.

“Good luck Xander,” Buffy tossed him a wave from the other side of the table.

“Oh Xander!” cried Willow as she threw herself at the boy, “You’re so brave.” Wrapping her arms around Xander’s waist Willow hugged him as if she was never going to see him again. “You be careful,” she looked up into his face her eyes starting to shine with tears, “and don’t forget to duck!” 

Smiling bravely Willow let go of her childhood friend and stood back to let Buffy hug him, she surreptitiously wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then noticing that Xander was taking too long hugging Buffy she added, “You better go like, now!”

“Yeah sure,” Xander reluctantly let go of Buffy and headed for the door, “I’ll let you know if I find out anything new.”

The priest and the two girls waved as Xander headed out the door. Suddenly the whole building shook as something massive exploded near by. They could hear windows break and saw dust drifting down from the ceilings as the entire building shuddered as if from a minor earth quake.

“Xander!” Giles pointed to the door, “Armoury quickly!” 

He grabbed Buffy and Willow by their arms and started to head for the door, “I think we should head down to the shelters.”

0=0=0=0

**Valle del Sol, 08:47.**

The Nightwatch team were huddled in the back of a van, the sign on the side of the vehicle proclaimed it as belonging to Octavio Murphy and Sons, Plumbers. The cargo area was indeed littered with copper pipe and plumber’s tools. The man who they assumed was Señor Murphy junior was lying tied up under a shrub in someone’s back garden. Sergeant Blair pointed at the map held across his knees as the other four team members struggled to see.

“I think I know what went wrong,” he traced the line of a road with his finger, “looks like the navy dropped us off at 31 Santa Ana Avenida. We should have been dropped at 13 Santa Anna Avenida!”

“The difference being?” Faith looked at her second in command non-the-wiser.

“One ‘n’ mostly,” Blair looked up only to find himself the focus of four blank stares; he struggled to explain. “Look, one’s a Saint the other’s a General similar spelling and it didn’t help them both being in similar but different areas.”

“Alright so how do we get to the right address?” Weatherby stroked his rifle’s barrel absently.

“I’ll drive!” Faith’s offer was met by moans of dismay from her team-mates, “Hey look,” she explained a little crestfallen at her team’s reaction, “I’m the only one here who can pass for Irish.”

“But you drive like a girl,” Hobson looked at Collins before adding, “no offence.” 

“None taken,” Collins looked at Faith, “but he’s right Boss you drive like a girl.” The young woman turned to her friends, “My granny can drive faster than the boss.”

“The Boss is right about the Irish thing though,” pointed out Weatherby the rest of the team looked very ‘Anglo’ and would stand out like sore thumbs.

Back in the 1850’s large numbers of Irish immigrants had moved to the United States hoping to start new lives in the, so-called, land of the free. Finding that they were treated little better than the Negro slaves still held in bondage by the remnant United States. Most had moved on to the Mexican Empire where their industriousness was welcomed by their co-religionists. Even to this day ‘Irish’ electricians, plumbers and builders were considered the best in the Empire. Faith, with her pale complexion, dark brown hair and blue eyes, could easily pass as someone of Irish decent, which in fact she was.

“Alright,” sighed Blair, “the Boss drives.”

There were more mutters of disappointment and someone got out a pack of cards as Faith climbed into the driver’s seat.

0=0=0=0

**13 Santa Anna Avenida, 09:24hrs.**

Standing in her back yard Joyce Summers looked up at a sky full of helicopters and jet aircraft. Soft ‘booms’ came to her ears from faraway as pillars of smoke rose into the sky to stain its blueness with oily black smoke.

“What’s going on mama?” Dawn walked over to her mother and put her arm around her waist.

“I don’t know sweetheart,” Joyce started to guide her daughter back towards the house; “maybe it was time to shelter in the cellar?”

The radio had been decidedly unhelpful, the announcer had babbled on about aircraft, helicopters and mysterious explosions which wasn’t news to Joyce because she could see them by looking out of her window. Then the radio had gone dead, she’d tried to tune into one of the national stations but all she got was a high pitched wailing that made her want to switch the radio off.

“Go get your school books,” she told her daughter as the walked into the kitchen, “I think we better go downstairs into the cellar.”

“But mama do we have to?” Dawn didn’t like the idea of sitting in the cellar doing school work while there was obviously something interesting going on; why wouldn’t people tell her what was happening?

“Yes we do,” Joyce pushed Dawn towards the staircase, “and stay away from the windows.”

As if to reinforce her words a loud explosion rattled every window in the house and something fell over and smashed on the living room floor. With a shriek Dawn ran up the stairs to her room while her mother started to fill some empty bottles with water and select food from the fridge and the pantry. As she worked she became aware of a car pulling up outside the garage at the front of the house. Rushing to look out of the front window she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her husband pull up outside, she hurried to open the front door.

“Are you and the girls okay?” Hank Summers hurried up to the front door, pushed his wife back inside and hugged her protectively.

“Dawn’s upstairs getting her books,” Joyce held on to her husband like he was a rock in a stormy sea, “Buffy’s at school…what’s going on Hank?”

Ushering his wife back towards the kitchen Hank noticed that she’d started making preparations for a long stay in the cellar.

“The British are bombing and landing troops all over town,” he told her as he started to help collect things and carry them towards the cellar.

“Why?” pleaded his wife, “What do they want?”

“Don’t know,” he put the box of supplies he’d been carrying down by the door that lead down to the basement. “DAWN!” he yelled up the stairs, “Get down here, NOW!” He opened the hall closet and took out the rifle and ammunition he kept for hunting, seeing the look on Joyce’s face he said, “It’s just in case.”

“Oh my God, what about Buffy?” Joyce’s hands flew to her face, her other daughter’s fate had slipped her mind in her relief at her husband’s return.

“If she’s at school she’ll be safe enough…DAWN! MOVE YOURSELF!” he yelled upstairs, “Whatever happens she’s a sensible girl and she’s with Xander…yes?”

Nodding Joyce went back into the kitchen to collect more supplies. Just as Hank started to load his rifle he heard another vehicle pull up outside, he looked out of the little glass pane in the front door.

“Did you call for a plumber?” he asked his wife.

0=0=0=0

“Are we there yet?” chorused the three commandos from the back of the van.

“Alright,” Blair turned to look at his team-mates from where he sat next to Faith, “joke over; check you’re weapons. Got a plan boss?”

Looking the house over Faith nodded her head slowly remembering the floor plans she’d been shown. The house was quite large; three bedrooms upstairs a bathroom and a box room. Downstairs was a large living room, a hall, a dinning room and a kitchen that looked out over the backyard. This house like all the others in the street was of a wooden construction which meant they’d have to be careful about bullets going through walls if it came to a fight.

“Right,” Faith checked her Tommy-gun as she spoke, “Trevor you take Collins and cover the rear of the house. Weatherby you take that cannon of yours and do overwatch from…” Faith twisted in her seat and looked up and down the road. “See if you can get on top of that house,” she pointed to a house across the street from their target, “Ya better go now.”

“Roger!” Weatherby opened the van’s rear door a crack and looked along the street; it wouldn’t do to run into the arms of a local cop.

Hearing the rear door open and close and the sound of Weatherby’s feet running across the road, Faith continued explaining what she wanted her people to do.

“Hobson,” she pulled back the cocking handle on her weapon, “you back me up. Trevor when ya hear us going in the front door ya come in the back, once you’ve cleared the kitchen head for the basement; the door should be just inside the hall on the left.” 

Nodding their heads in understanding Blair and Collins got out of the van and headed for the house’s backyard.

“Mike,” Faith looked at her last remaining team-mate, “once I’ve kicked in the door head up stairs and go firm, wait for me before you start searching understand?”

Getting a ‘thumbs up’ from Hobson, Faith checked the street once more, reasoning the rest of her team would be in position by now she opened the driver’s door and stepped out onto the street followed by Hobson.

“Ready?” she raised a questioning eyebrow to Hobson who nodded, “GO!”

Faith sprinted towards the house followed closely by Hobson.

0=0=0=0

Up in her room Dawn was dawdling over collecting her books, a noise outside made her look out of her bedroom window. Gasping she saw two black clad figures sneak around the side of the house and take up position on either side of the kitchen door.

“PAPA!” she screamed.

0=0=0=0

Slipping the last round into the magazine of his rifle Hank looked up to see his front door burst open and a black clad figure clutching a gun burst into his house. Raising his rifle he fired instinctively.

0=0=0=0

Sprinting up to the door Faith hit it as hard as she could with her shoulder; she heard wood splinter as the door gave way. Pausing for an instant to recover as the door banged open she saw two figures in the hall, one of them raised a weapon towards her.

“GUN!” she yelled and threw herself to one side and into the dinning room doorway.

The rifle made an impossibly loud ‘BANG!’ in the confined space of the hall, the bullet flew by her head and she heard the familiar wet meat sound of lead hitting flesh. Instinctively she knew that Hobson had been hit as he’d entered the house close behind her. Throwing herself to her left Faith raised her Tommy gun, her enhanced eyesight picked out her targets as her super fast reactions let her pull her trigger before the man with the rifle could work the lever that would load another round into his rifle’s breach.

The rifle shot had been loud but the sound of Faith’s Tommy-gun going off seemed to fill the universe with noise. The heavy .45 calibre slugs almost cut her first target in half as his blood painted the floor and walls red. Her second burst caught the other figure high in the chest, the force of the rounds blowing her off her feet to land in a heap on the kitchen floor. Slowly Faith’s stunned ears picked up the sound of Blair and Collins stealthily moving into the kitchen.

“Clear,” Faith called as she turned to see what could be done for Hobson; it didn’t take more than a second to see that he was dead, “Damn,” she breathed under her breath.

“You alright boss?” Collins crabbed into the hall and covered the exits with her rifle as Blair thundered down the stairs into the basement.

“Clear!” He called from below, before heading back up into the house proper.

“Is he…?” Collins stood over Faith as she stripped Hobson’s body of everything useful.

“Dead? ‘fraid so,” Faith took one of Hobson’s identity discs and put it into one of the pockets of her battledress jacket. 

“Shit!” Collins kicked the wall; she looked at the body of the civilian with the rifle, “Stupid fucker,” she kicked the body half heartedly, “why’d you have to try and be a hero?”

“No sign of the girl?” Blair stood in the doorway of the basement.

“No?” Faith shook her head, “There’s still upstairs.”

0=0=0=0

Cowering under her bed Dawn tried to stifle her sobs; she could just hear the slow careful steps of several people making their way up towards her room. After hearing the burst of gunfire from below she had dived under her bed and lay there hugging an old stuffed toy and wondering what had happened to her parents.

Screaming Dawn felt a hand clamp itself onto her ankle and start to drag her inexorably from under her bed. Her fingers dug into the carpet as she scrambled to keep herself hidden; she kicked with her free foot trying to loosen the vice like grip on her leg. All to no avail; she was dragged out into the daylight and roughly turned onto her back.

Dawn stared up in wild eyed terror at the muzzle of the gun that was thrust into her face, its huge black maw seemed big enough to swallow her entire head; she could smell that the weapon had been recently fired as it was waved under her noise. Again she screamed as loud as she could; why didn’t Papa come and save her? Where was her mother? Where was her big sister? Why wasn’t there anybody here to help her? A stinging slap across her face stopped her screaming and snapped her out of her useless mental questioning. Dawn looked up into the hard face of the Anglo woman who was holding the gun to her head.

“Shut up you little bitch,” Faith took a moment to flex her hand were the girl had kicked it; “If you want to live, tell me where your sister is.”

0=0=0=0


	3. Chapter 3

3.

**Vale del Sol High School, 09:12hrs.**

“Aye carumba!” Xander gasped as he looked up into a sky that appeared to be black with helicopters, “Where d’you think they’re heading?”

“The park?” Jesse called back; the two teenagers stood on the roof of the school craning their necks to get a better look at the choppers as they flew over.

Looking down at the old bolt action rifle in his hands Xander decided against taking a pot shot at the passing aircraft.

“Hey Jess,” he tugged at his friend’s sleeve, “what say we go back inside?”

“Yeah,” Jess let Xander pull him towards the stairs that led down into the school, “yeah you’re right,” he nodded, “nothin’ we can do up here.”

0=0=0=0

“Why does Xander love you Buffy?” Willow looked at her best friend miserably as they rolled bandages together in the nurse’s office in the shelter under the school.

“Get out of here!” Buffy laughed, “No he doesn’t.”

“He so does!” the red haired girl moaned, “I can see it in the way he looks at you and how he hugged you just a little too long before he went off to get his gun.”

“He does…I mean he did?” Buffy sounded genuinely surprised, “But I never told him or said anything to make him think…”

The sound of helicopters faded a little as they passed over the school heading northwest.

“Yeah well he does,” Willow picked up another bandage and started to roll, “I’ve known him and Jess all my life, I know the signs.”

“But I thought he loved you…” Buffy stopped rolling for a moment to watch her friend’s face, “Oh I see,” Buffy nodded wisely, “he loves you like a sister and you what more.”

“Uh-huh,” mumbled Willow.

The sound of helicopters was slowly being replaced by the sound of distant gunfire.

“But I’m in love with someone else,” explained Buffy.

“You are?” Willow brightened, “Does he go to school here? Do I know him? Is he older than you? Has he got a car, have you…y’know…yet?”

“No, no, no, yes and most definitely no!” Buffy laughed.

“But you’re going to right?” Willow smiled hopefully, “Maybe we could double date then Xander could see that he hasn’t got a chance with you then I can…”

A loud bang from outside shattered Willow’s hopes of a romantic evening leading to…well, who knew what.

“We’d better get on,” Buffy nodded at Willow and looked at the unrolled bandages on the table.

As her fingers rolled yet another bandage Buffy thought about Willow’s suggestion. Maybe it would be a good idea if her friends met Angel, they could grow to like him and then they’d not be too shocked when they found out he was a vampire. After all it wasn’t his fault, he’d been bitten. He’d promised her he’d not fed on anyone in years so that was okay…wasn’t it?

0=0=0=0

**Vale del Sol Municipel Park, 09:15hrs.**

Ducking slightly Flight Sergeant Kevin O’Brian collected his men together and had them check the equipment they’d unloaded from the helicopter. The odd stray bullet passed over their heads but he knew that the commando boys would soon deal with the few remaining Mexican snipers. He had half a dozen men under his command each one an expert in demolition work. How the Royal Flying Corps got to be responsible for dealing with unstable anomalies he wasn’t too sure, but deal with them he would. There was one under the school not half a mile away; with a big enough explosion they could destabilise it and it would close. Why the Mexicans hadn’t done it and why they’d built a school right on top of it he couldn't understand…but that was dagos for you. Shrugging his shoulders under his battledress jacket O’Brian supervised his men as they loaded boxes of explosive onto the little hand carts they’d brought to help move their equipment.

“Come on you lot!” O’Brian looked at his watch, time was marching on and so should they, “If we don’t move now the dagos might wake up and start throwing tacos at us!”

His men laughed at his little joke and loaded the last bits and pieces of equipment into the carts.

“Ready to go Flight,” reported Corporal Mathews, O’Brian’s second in command, as he took a firm grip on his rifle.

Checking his map O’Brian nodded to his corporal, he glanced up and around to get his bearing. All the dust thrown up by the helicopters wasn’t helping and the dagos had been lobbing a few mortar rounds over from time to time making it worst. His finger traced a route on the map then he pointed to a gate in the fence that surrounded the park.

“This way,” he waved and led his men off towards Vale del Sol High School.

0=0=0=0

**Murphy the plumber’s van outside Vale del Sol High School, 09:21hrs.**

“Sorry about your mum and dad.”

The blonde, female commando put her arm around Dawn’s shoulder; to Dawn, she smelt of sweat, gun oil and death. The commandos had dragged her from under her bed and downstairs where she'd seen her parents laid out on the kitchen floor; one of the commandos was putting a sheet over the bodies. Dawn had nearly cried out that it was one of her mama’s best sheets and not to get blood on it…it was only then that she realised her parents were gone. The female commando had picked her up and carried her out to the van that they were now sitting in. There had been two more commandos, men this time, clearing the junk from the back of the van; there was a blanket shrouded body on the road. Dawn realised what had happened and felt proud that her papa had killed one of the bastards before…

Dawn had known about her sister being ‘La Asesina de Demonios’ since she’d been ten; she’d followed Buffy on one of her nightly patrols and seen her kill a vampire. Of course her sister had been furious, but after she’d calmed down, Dawn had promised never to tell, it would be their secret. They’d even started the fake ‘sisters who hate each other’ routine so they would never appear to be too close and be sharing secrets from their parents. Dawn rubbed the bruise on her arm, Buffy would pay for that, she’d seen a scarf she’d liked and…

Gasping and shaking her head Dawn wiped at the tears that ran down her face, she must be a terrible person. Her parents were dead, there were British commandos after her sister and all she could think about was the scarf she wanted her sister to buy her for bruising her arm. Moving the female soldier’s arm from around her shoulder, Dawn tried not to touch the dead soldier with her feet as she sat hunched up in the back of the van.

The hard faced woman who appeared to be in charge had said Dawn might come in useful when they caught up with Buffy, ‘leverage’ she’d called her. Dawn wondered what would happen if Buffy didn’t want to be ‘levered’, she had the feeling that the leader woman would slip a knife between her ribs as soon as she could; and that was another thing that frightened Dawn, the dark haired woman was strong, way too strong…strong like her sister.

0=0=0=0

“There it is,” Faith pointed towards the school, “best I can work out the place is guarded by a few kids with old rifles…better we get it over with now.”

“Not so sure Boss,” Blair sucked his teeth and shook his head, “we’re not supposed to get mixed up in the main part of the raid…and you know what his Lordship said about civilian casualties?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Faith nodded her head impatiently, “but look we can be in and out in five minutes, grab La Asesina and be away before anyone’s the wiser…you know there’s an anomaly in there too right?”

“Not our responsibility boss,” Blair didn’t like the idea of a possible gunfight in a school full of children, “we’re just after the girl. We’re in enough hot water for killing her parents and kidnapping her sister…”

“That was an accident!” Faith replied hotly.

“Yeah we kidnapped the girl by accident,” Blair shook his head in despair.

“Alright,” Faith conceded the point, “you’ve made your point; noted ya don’t like the idea of going into the school to get the girl…well sorry Trevor like ya say I’m the boss and what I say goes…we go in.”

Blair opened his mouth to object but Faith held a hand up to stop him.

“Look,” she explained, “we take the sister, go into the school, try to find the girl. If we can’t or it looks like its going pear shaped we’ll bug out and try something else, right?”

“Yes alright boss,” Blair agreed reluctantly.

0=0=0=0

Having come down from the roof Xander and Jesse had been posted just inside the main doors of the school. Xander peeped over the barricade of school desks that had been piled in front of the entrance way.

“What was that?”

“What?” Jesse popped up beside his friend.

“I thought I saw something move.”

“Where?”

“Over there,” Xander pointed to a clump of bushes that were used by the senior boys when they wanted to be alone with their girlfriends…or so Xander had been told. “I thought I saw men with guns moving towards the school.”

“Maybe they’re the regulars from the camp,” Jesse suggested hopefully.

The helicopters that had filled the sky were gone now; their noise and thunder had been replaced by the crackle of small arms fire which grew steadily louder as it got closer. Then, if that wasn’t enough, every few minutes or so a sound like all the demons in hell going over the school in an express train, would rip though the air followed by huge explosions that shook the building and shattered windows. Xander didn’t mind admitting he was scared. He’d joined the militia for the uniform which he had hoped would make him more popular with the girls; a hope that had been dashed because everybody still thought Willow was his girlfriend. Bringing up his rifle he rested it on the edge of an up turned table and looked over the top of his sights. Yes he’d been right!

“There!” he nudged Jesse as he pointed to several men who had appeared from around a bush pushing a couple of handcarts towards the school.

“You sure they’re not ours?” Jesse sounded unsure; he reluctantly brought up his own rifle.

“Look,” Xander pointed again, “the colour of their uniform’s all wrong and they’re wearing berets…no one in our army wears berets, they must be the bad guys.”

“Yeah okay,” nodded Jesse slowly, “what do we do? Tell someone?”

“No time,” Xander pulled the butt of his rifle into his shoulder and fired, “come on!” he glanced at Jesse, “Fire that rifle!”

0=0=0=0

“Bloody hell!” Flight Sergeant O’Brian dropped to the pavement and watched the building to his front; some bugger was shooting at him.

He could tell because he could hear bullets crack over his head and the slow ‘bang-two-three’ of bolt action rifles firing from the school.

“Spread out!” he hissed realising that a stray round hitting the contents of the carts would end their little adventure here and now.

“Bernard!” O’Brian called to Corporal Mathews.

“Flight?” the man crawled up beside him.

“Take Smith and Rogers and see if you can get behind those buggers,” O’Brian pointed at the school entrance, “I’ll stay here with the others and keep them occupied, alright?”

“Right you are Flight,” Mathews scuttled away and collected up his party before starting to make his way through the ornamental gardens.

Lifting his rifle to his shoulder O’Brian sighted on where he thought the snipers where.

“Get sorted out you lot,” he called to his two remaining men, “work to do!”

He started popping off at the Mexicans in the school, his two fellow RFC men joining in quickly. Their self loading rifles soon made the snipers take cover and keep their heads down. He changed magazines after ten rounds and paused to assess the situation. The Mexicans were quiet now.

“Maybe we’ve got them,” O’Brian slowly lifted his head to get a better view.

0=0=0=0

The enemy fire had slackened off, so Xander took the opportunity to see what was going on. The blizzard of bullets that had sent wood splinters and lumps of plaster flying in all directions had come as a shock to him, but he found he was nowhere near as frightened as he thought he would be, maybe this fighting thing wasn’t so bad after all? Lifting his head he saw a head in a blue-grey beret looking almost directly at him, once more he pulled his rifle into his shoulder and controlled his breathing as he’d been taught. He took careful aim at the head before slowly squeezing the trigger.

“CLICK!” went the firing pin as it sprang forward on an empty chamber.

“What the hell?” ducking down Xander opened the bolt and found his magazine empty, in his excitement he’d forgotten to count his rounds and he’d run out of bullets.

Quickly he pushed a spare clip into the magazine and closed the bolt. However, when he looked over the top of the barricade again he saw no one.

“Where’d they go? Hey Jesse you see where they went?” Xander reached over to shake his friend.

Jesse slumped to the floor at Xander’s touch, his head rolled to face Xander and he saw the neat round, blue-black hole in Jesse’s forehead for the first time. Turning away from the sight of his dead friend, Xander vomited onto the floor, he coughed and spat then looked back at his friend he’d known for almost as long as he’d known Willow.

“Buen Dios!” he gasped as he stared into Jesse’s still open eyes, this friend had only joined up because he had.

The enemy forgotten Xander started to crawl away from the door, he needed to get away, he needed to be with Willow and hold her and…and just be with her. It was a sign of his inexperience that he didn’t strip Jesse’s body of his spare ammunition, but Xander wasn’t so far gone that he forgot to bring his own rifle along.

0=0=0=0

“You scream or try to run,” Faith waved her fighting knife under the Dawn’s nose, “and I’ll gut you with this, see?”

The girl nodded dumbly, Faith didn’t really want to use the Asesina’s sister like this, but if it made it easier to catch the Asesina de Demonios without a fight; well she’d play the evil bitch if she had to.

“Alright,” Faith waved her depleted team forward towards the back of the school, “let’s move.”

They ran crouched over between the bushes and flower beds until they came to the corner of a large brick building.

“What’s this building?” Faith turned to the Asesina’s sister.

“Don’t know,” she sulked, “it’s not my school.”

“Damn, hadn’t thought of that!” Faith chastened herself.

The little group worked along the wall of the building until they came to what must have been a fire exit. Faith lifted her foot and kicked open the door. It sprang back on its hinges to reveal a long dimly lit corridor with a polished floor.

“Alright, we’re in!”

0=0=0=0

“Buffy!” Padre Giles burst into the nurse’s office startling both Buffy and Willow, “quick you must get out!” 

“What’s wrong?” gasped Willow as she hung onto Buffy’s arm, “Apart from us being invaded by the British,” she looked suspiciously at the priest, “Principal Snyder doesn’t want us to write a report about it does he?”

“Shut up you stupid girl!” Padre Giles was at the end of his tether and Willow’s babbling about reports was just one thing too many to deal with just now.

“Hey Padre!” Buffy sprang to the defence of her friend, “You watch who you’re calling stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” Giles took a deep breath as he calmed down, he looked at Willow. “Forgive me for calling you stupid…it’s the…” he gestured with his hand to encompass everything that had happened in the last few hours.

“Okay,” grinned Willow, “you’re forgiven, now why has Buffy got to get out?”

“The British are after her!” the priest tried to drag Buffy from the room, his feet slipped on the polished floor when Buffy wouldn’t move.

“Huh?” said the two girls in chorus.

“Look,” Giles tried to explain as he danced nervously from one foot to the other, Buffy still wasn’t budging, “I got a message..;”

“I thought the phones were out.” Buffy gave the priest a puzzled look.

“I have my own means of communication,” he stopped trying to move Buffy by brute force; obviously she wasn’t going to move until he’d explained everything.

“Look,” Padre Giles took another deep breath, “this entire raid has one objective,” he paused for dramatic effect, “to capture you!” 

He pointed at Buffy.

“Me?” Buffy pointed at herself as if there was another Asesina de Demonios in the room who Giles might have been referring to, “Little old me?”

“Yes Buffy you!” Giles was seconds away from tearing what little hair he had left out; Buffy was a sweet girl but sometimes she could be a little slow.

“You mean,” Buffy put one hand on her hip and waged her finger under Giles’s nose, “the great British Commonwealth got all these aeroplanes and soldiers together to come get me?”

“YES!” Giles looked up to heaven hoping for divine intervention.

“Oh come off it,” it was Willow who spoke now, “what has Buffy done to piss…I mean annoy the British?”

“Nothing!” it was no good he’d have to tell her everything, “Look my Brothers at the Mexico City office have a British Asesina de Demonios there. They think the British want you so they can trade you for their own girl.”

“Hey,” Buffy had at last started to head for the door, “they must really want her back bad…I wonder why?”

“That was the Cardinal’s thought too,” now he’d got Buffy moving it was important to keep the momentum going.

Having got Buffy and Willow up out of the shelter and into the corridor above, Padre Giles hustled the two girls along the corridor towards the rear of the building. The sound of small arms fire was closer now, but the huge crashing explosions had stopped so maybe things were calming down a little. The little group stopped and turned at the sound of running boots in the corridor behind them.

“It’s Xander!” Willow literally jumped for joy and clapped her hands.

Running up to her with his rifle in hand Willow caught sight of the blood on Xander’s shirt.

“You’re hurt!” she cried in alarm.

“No, no,” Xander gasped as he came to a halt and gathered Willow in his arms, “it’s not mine…”

“Then who’s…” Willow’s voice petered out as for the first time she fully realised that this wasn’t all just a game, “Oh!” Her hand went to her mouth as she looked up into Xander’s face.

“Look we’ve got to get out of here,” Xander explained breathlessly.

“Yes,” agreed Giles, “it’s like I’ve been trying to tell you all.”

Buffy caught the haunted look in Xander’s eyes.

“What’s wrong Xander,” the concern in her voice betraying her age.

“Nothing,” lied Xander, “look, the British are coming; we’ve got to get out,” he started to hustle the girls along the corridor.

Padre Giles looked heavenward and thanked God for Xander Harris, something he had never considered doing before; it just showed you how wrong you could be about people.

0=0=0=0

Faith didn’t need enhanced hearing to tell her that someone was coming up the corridor on her right. It did tell her that whoever it was-was loaded down with equipment and were pushing something heavy. Bursting around the corner she levelling her Tommy-gun expecting to come face-to-face with a bunch of angry Mexicans.

“What the fuck!?” she gasped pointing the muzzle of her sub-machine gun at the ceiling.

“Bugger me!” the leader of the other group brought his rifle around but managed to stop himself from firing.

“Who are you lot then?” they asked each other.

0=0=0=0


	4. Chapter 4

4.

**Valle del Sol High School, 09:58hrs.**

After watching the RFC men set their charges for a minute or two, Faith turned to speak to Blair.

“Well she’s obviously not here,” she looked around the school library, it was a nice friendly looking place, you’d never expect that there was an anomaly directly underneath it.

Walking over to the Asesina’s sister, Faith pulled out her knife and watched the girl try to flinch away from her.

“Alright,” Faith flicked her knife from one hand to the other as she advanced on the girl, “where else would your sister go?”

“I’ll never tell you…puta!” Dawn spat at Faith who jumped back out of range.

“What does ‘puta’ mean?” she turned and whispered to Blair.

“I think it means ‘whore’,” Trevor caught the look Faith gave him and emphasised, “I think.”

Suggesting that Faith was a ‘whore’ was never a good idea; her mother had been a street-walker and it was one of the few things she really felt touchy about. Much to Blair’s surprise Faith didn’t fly into a rage; in fact she seemed to shrink in on herself a little.

“Amy,” Faith looked at Collins who’d been holding the girl, “let her go.”

Standing and rubbing her arms where they’d been held, Dawn watched Faith warily wondering what was going to happen next.

“Go on,” Faith dismissed Dawn with a wave of the hand, “piss off.”

“I thought you wanted her for leverage,” Blair stepped forward and caught Dawn by the arm before she could move.

“Changed my mind,” Faith informed him, then to Dawn she said, “go on, go!”

Breaking away from the Nightwatch man Dawn turned and sprinted for the doors, they closed behind her with a bang, Blair watched her go.

“You’re going to track her,” Blair smiled at Faith, “you’re hoping she’ll run straight to her sister.”

“Got a better idea?” Faith shrugged before picking up her gun from the table.

“As it happens no,” grinned Blair, “but I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

“Sorry, spur of the moment,” Faith turned to watch the RFC men at their work for a moment, “Flight O’Brian?” she called.

“Yes Ma’am!” the Flight Sergeant looked up from behind the counter near the door.

“Can you finish up here by yourself?” Faith wanted to be away.

“Weren’t expecting company ma’am, so we’ll manage,” he grinned.

“Good,” Faith started to head for the door, her team following her, “we’re leaving, good luck.”

Just as O’Brian called ‘good luck’ back a short man with big ears in a flamboyant Mexican army uniform burst into the room; he brandished a revolver in the air.

“Hands-up!” he cried excitedly waving his weapon around, “You are all my prisoners!”

Faith shot him with a five round burst from her Tommy-gun. The force of the bullets knocked the man off his feet and blew him back through the doors into the corridor. Following the body through the doors Blair looked cautiously up and down the passageway, seeing no one else about he went over to examine the corpse.

“Well,” he glanced over his shoulder at Faith, “at least this one was wearing a uniform…what is it with you and shooting people?”

“It a talent,” Faith shrugged, “what can I say?”

“Yep,” Blair sighed and stood up, “one less Mex to worry about. If we want to follow that girl we’d better get going.”

0=0=0=0

**Jefaturas Imperiales Mexicanas del Districto del Ejército, Los Angeles, 10:15hrs.**

Turning away from the big map of the Los Angeles area, General Santiago realised that he’d been completely fooled. After the early morning air attacks that had crippled the air force units in his area and the attack on San Diego he had been convinced that Los Angeles would be the target for further attacks. Working on that assumption he’d deployed his ground, naval and remaining air units to protect the city while waiting for units deployed to the south to come to his aid.

In the north of California Mexican forces had deployed towards the border with Oregon Territory in case the British launched an attack from King George Provence. So far no attack had come over that border and no landings had been made in or near Los Angeles. Turning the General watched as an aide handed a message sheet to Major Ramirez, his aide de camp. Having quickly read the message the Major came over to report to Santiago.

“It’s confirmed General,” the Major glanced again at the piece of paper in his hand, “the British have landed a Special Service Brigade at Valle del Sol. One of our submarines has reported a naval task force of at least one battleship, one possibly two aircraft carriers and a large number of lesser vessels.”

“Is there no other information?” the General asked shortly.

“I’m sorry General but we lost contact with our sub just after this message was received,” the Major left the probable fate of the submarine unspoken.

“I’m sorry, Hector,” the General realised what must have happened to the submarine and its crew, “I’m sure they were all brave men who died doing their duty.”

Shaking his head in confusion General Santiago looked closely at the map, why were the British attacking Valle del Sol. There was nothing important there; the port was small and totally overshadowed by the larger facilities in Los Angeles. There was a joint civilian and air force airstrip at Camarilla, but the reports stated that the one fighter squadron based there had been totally destroyed. There was also a small army base just north of the town, little more than a transport depot, but again nothing of importance.

“Have we any information from inside Valle del Sol?” the General ran his hand through his thinning hair as he stared at the map.

“One moment please General,” Major Ramirez picked up a clipboard from a nearby table and flicked through the sheets of paper it held. “The British have cut all phone lines and are jamming radio communications, but, a Captain Vazquez from the base near the town got a message out, he’s doing the best he can to stop the invaders…I’m afraid General that with the forces the Captain has on hand anything he does can only be of nuisance value.”

“Well at least he’s doing something useful,” sighed the general, “which is more than I’m doing, eh?”

The Major shrugged non-committally at his General; just at that moment another message was handed to the general’s aide.

“Sir, Colonel Delgado commanding the 501st Parachute Regiment, says he’s moving south towards Valle del Sol and meeting stiff opposition from British paratroops.” 

The Major added the message to those on his clipboard.

“Good,” nodded the General, “good…tell him I will send him reinforcements as soon as I can.”

Staring at the map once more the general puzzled over why the British should be attacking a sleepy little university town that no one had ever heard of. Maybe if he could work out why the British were doing what they were doing he would be able to plan the best way of defeating them. A memory started to surface in his mind; something about a security detachment being deployed to the University, something very secret, so secret that it needed highly trained soldiers to protect it. That must be why the British were attacking Valle del Sol, the General turned to look at Ramirez.

“What uncommitted units do we have near by?” the General didn’t really need to know, asking the question just gave him a moment to order his thoughts, Ramirez handed him a list of units and their present locations. Studying the list for a moment the General made up his mind and walked over to the map.

“Write this down,” Santiago looked at the map closely, “have the 1st Armoured Cavalry Regiment concentrate here,” his finger pointed to a junction on the highway that led to Valle del Sol just north of the city. “Get the 3rd Mech Infantry Brigade together and have them push up the highway behind the cavalry. Contact San Francisco and have them send every available unit south to support our paratroopers. Get on the line to the air force; I want every available aircraft in the air to support our thrusts.”

Scribbling frantically Major Ramirez jotted down the Generals orders.

“Finally,” sighed the General, “get me a line to Mexico City, I want to know what is so important in Valle del Sol that the British would want to destroy it so badly.”

0=0=0=0

**Universidad de Valle del Sol, 11:00hrs.**

Studying his map Lt Moore scratched the back of his head before replacing his beret; this certainly looked like the University. The buildings that surrounded him and his platoon were in the classic Spanish style, all white paint and arches with terracotta roof tiles. Green vines grew up the sides of the buildings and large leafy trees provided shade in the many cobbled courtyards. Moore’s objective was a fraternity house near the centre of the main university campus.

Putting away his map, Moore waved his men forward; so far they had met little resistance on their journey from the docks through the town and into the university district. A few police had taken pot shots at them before they were either killed or chased off and there’d been a minor fire fight with a local militia unit. This had ended with several militiamen killed or wounded and one of his own men injured enough to be sent back to the beach for evacuation. So far they had met no resistance in the university itself; Moore’s main fear was demonstrations from the students themselves. His men weren’t equipped to handle civil disorder and any riots would quickly escalate to the use of deadly force, something Lord Lovat didn’t want.

Moving on quickly Moore led his men down peaceful tree lined avenues, the warlike appearance and intent of his men clashed discordantly with the neat lawns and bright flowerbeds. Soon his objective was in sight and he held up his hand to bring his unit to a halt. Calling over his section leaders Moore watched in satisfaction as his men took up defensive positions without having to be told.

Laying out his map on the short grass Moore explained his plan of attack; Sergeant Watson’s section would lead the assault entering the house from the front. At the same time Corporal Dawson’s section would attack the house from the rear. Corporal White’s section, the Piat team and Moore himself would take up positions to act as a reserve and a base of fire if heavy opposition was met. The Piat team would lob a bomb at the house to blow in the front door and signal the start of the attack.

0=0=0=0

Resting his elbows on a garden wall Moore watched the house through his binoculars, here and there a curtain moved in the soft morning breeze. Moore smiled to himself, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was here on ‘business’; Valle del Sol seemed a rather pleasant place to spend a few days; much nicer than the freezing rain and snow of Vancouver. Lowering his binoculars for a moment Moore glanced around his surrounding’s one last time; there were no sign of any enemy forces. It did seem odd that there was no movement what-so-ever on the campus; it was after all just gone eleven o’clock in the morning and even the dagos should be up by now. He glanced at his wristwatch; they’d seen no one since they’d come on campus. For a moment he considered radioing his company commander but decided against it.

Checking his watch one last time, Moore nodded to Private Black the Piat gunner who had his launcher set up half a dozen feet to his right. Everyone should be in place by now; time to start the attack. There was a ‘THUNG!” as the Piat’s spring was released followed by a ‘CRACK!’ as the bomb’s propellant charge exploded and sent the bomb wobbling towards its target. About the only good thing to be said about the Piat was that it didn’t give your position away when you fired it like a bazooka would.

Watching through his binoculars Moore saw the little, fat, finned bomb hit the door and explode sending smoke and splinters in all directions. Turning slightly he watched as Sergeant Watson’s men sprinted for the front of the house. They were about half way to their target when they were hit by a storm of fire from the house. Automatic fire ripped up the lawn around the commando’s feet, two men fell almost immediately as the rest of the section went to ground and returned fire.

“SHIT!” Moore glanced left and right he could hear firing from the rear of the house as well, “COVERING FIRE!” he yelled at the men around him, “Black!” he looked at the Piat gunner and his number two, “Blow that house to matchwood!” 

The gunner grinned at his officer while his number two loaded another bomb, shortly afterwards there was another ‘THUNG! CRACK! BOOM!’ as a bomb flew through the air and exploded against the wall of the house. Hunkering down behind the wall Moore snatched the handset from his radio operator.

“Hello two-nine, this is two-three, contact!” Moore explained his situation to his company commander only to be told that the rest of the company was heavily engaged with Mexican troops in the centre of the town, he was on his own.

0=0=0=0

“Last bomb sir!” called Black as his loader placed the bomb into the firing tray.

Watching the bomb as it flew through a hole in the wall of the house to explode inside, Moore stood up from his position behind the wall. He and his men had been firing steadily into the house for about five minutes. The windows were all smashed and the walls riddled with bullet holes. Several of the windows leaked smoke and flames from where the Piat bombs had started fires. Answering fire had slackened off dramatically, either the Mexicans were saving ammunition and keeping their heads down or his return fire had been effective in reducing their numbers.

Changing his half used magazine for a full one Moore cocked his rifle and looked at the men near by. Time to find out if the Mexicans were lying low or if they’d been killed.

“Alright chaps,” Moore vaulted over the wall, “FOLLOW ME!”

Running towards the building Moore fired his rifle from the hip; he was aware of other men running beside him and weapons going off from in front and behind. He leapt up the stairs at the front of the house and onto the veranda where smashed flower pots and garden furniture littered the floorboards. His back hit the wall with a dull thud as he quickly changed his magazine for a fresh one. He looked up to see one of his men take up position on the other side of the hole where the front door had once been.

Opening an ammunition pouch Moore retrieved a grenade; he nodded to the man on the other side of the hole before pulling the pin and released the spoon that sent off the grenade’s fuse. He counted down three seconds before throwing the grenade into the house; it exploded with a sharp ‘Crack!’ he could hear other bombs going off at the rear of the house. Nodding once more to his fellow commando the two men burst into the house spraying the wrecked entrance hall with rifle fire. Stepping over the dead body of a young Mexican man who lay near the door still clutching his sub-machine gun, Moore moved further into the house. He heard the boots of some of his men thunder up the stairs to the first floor where they started clearing rooms.

After a few more minutes of muffled explosions and the sharp crack of rifles going off Moore rested his back against a bullet scarred wall and swapped his rifle’s empty magazine for another full one; he noted absently that he’d fired off about half of his ammunition load.

“Sir!” Corporal Dawson’s boots crunched on the broken glass that littered the floor as he walked towards Moore, “Building’s secure…”

“Where’s Sergeant Watson?” Moore pushed himself away from the wall and took a drink from his water bottle.

“Dead sir,” Dawson shrugged helplessly.

“Who else?” Moore wanted to know.

“Besides Watson?” Dawson took off his beret and ran his hand through his short hair, “Peterson, Davis, Cooper and Jones dead. Evans and Miller seriously wounded and three others with minor wounds.”

“Damn!” cursed Moore, not only were these men he’d spent the last ten months training with, they were also his friends; on a practical note the casualties had reduced his fighting strength by nearly a third. “You’re acting platoon sergeant Dawson,” Moore glanced up at his now senior NCO while he thought about what to do next.

“Reorganise the platoon into two teams,” it was time to move on to their next objective, “and strip the dead and seriously wounded of any spare ammunition…”

“I think there’s something you need to see, sir,” Dawson interrupted, “something we found while we were clearing the house.”

Leading Moore into a side corridor Dawson gestured to the open door of a large cupboard or closet.

“What have we got here?” Moore walked past Dawson to take a closer look.

“Careful sir,” Dawson caught hold of his officer’s arm, “looks like a lift shaft, goes down twenty or thirty feet by the looks of it.”

“Bloody odd,” Moore looked at Dawson for an explanation but only got a shrug in reply.

“Corp!” the head of a commando appeared around the door of the room next to the closet/lift. “Sorry sir didn’t see you there; there’s a staircase leading down from a cupboard in ‘ere!”

“Show me!” Moore moved forward and was shown the staircase in the next room.

This was all bloody odd, he thought, in fact the whole situation was bloody odd. He’d been told that the house contained a unit of security police who kept an eye on the student body at the university. That would explain why they were armed to the teeth when he’d come calling. But why would they need a lift going down to an obviously secret bunker under the building? Moore looked at his watch; he was hopelessly behind with the timetable so another half hour spent looking around wasn’t going to hurt. Anyway he’d been trained to use his initiative and this could be important.

“You can ‘ear someone moving rahnd dahn there sir,” the commando pointed down the stairs.

Listening carefully Moore could indeed hear voices and what sounded like furniture being moved.

“Alright this is what we’ll do,” he took Dawson to one side and started to issue his orders.

0=0=0=0

Hearing the ‘BOOM!’ of the demolition charge from the lift shaft, Moore led the assault party down the staircase. Their boots rang on the metal steps as the moved as quickly as they could down the spiral stairs. The lights flickered on and off as he and his men neared the bottom. Seeing the barrel of a sub-machine gun poke around the corner of the wall at the bottom of the stairwell Moore fired half a dozen rounds from his rifle. The SMG barrel disappeared from view and Moore dropped a grenade down the last dozen feet of the staircase.

Taking cover against the wall Moore heard the grenade go off with a sharp crack and a puff of grey smoke. Yelling incoherently he jumped down the last few steps and shoulder barged the remains of the door at the bottom of the stairs off its hinges. Finding himself in a large ill lit room Moore saw indistinct figures rush about in panic. He sensed more than saw the bullets hitting the wall behind him. He fired off a couple of quick shots at a muzzle flash and rolled for cover as more commandos burst through the door behind him.

Changing his magazine again Moore saw one of his men collapse in the door after being hit by a burst of fire from deep within the shadowy gloom. The Mexican’s shots were answered by a sustained burst of fire from another commando. Listening carefully Moore tried to sort out the sounds coming to his ears.

“CEASE FIRE!” he yelled at the top of his voice, slowly the firing died away to nothing.

In the silence broken only by the moans of the wounded and the crackling of a few small fires, Moore thought he could hear two or three men arguing in rapid fire Spanish.

“SURRENDER!” he called, “There’s no way out!”

Slowly several men in white coats stood up from behind desks and crates with there hands in the air.

“Throw down your weapons!” Moore ordered as a couple of pistols and an SMG were slid across the floor towards his position.

Signalling Corporal White to take charge of the prisoners Moore stood up to take a look around.

“Someone get the lights working,” he called as he advanced across the room.

“Half a moe sir,” called an indistinct voice.

The lights flickered on to illuminate what looked like a large laboratory. Several figures lay on the floor blood staining their white lab coats where they’d been hit. Watching his men search the prisoners, most of whom appeared to be civilians with only two of the security police types still alive; Moore went to look down a corridor that led off the main area. He saw what looked like cells lining both sides of the corridor, maybe this was some sort of interrogation centre he wondered.

Walking down the centre of corridor he looked into the barred cells.

“Oh my fucking God!” he exclaimed as he backed away from the creatures that reached through the bars towards him.

0=0=0=0


	5. Chapter 5

5.

**Valle del Sol Shopping Mall, 11:58hrs.**

After firing a long burst from her Tommy-gun, Faith ducked down behind the car she and her team were using for cover. There was a hail of return fire from the shopping mall about fifty yards to their front.

“Weren’t you saying something about not getting involved in the fighting?” Faith called to Blair as he fired his rifle steadily into the building opposite; shrugging his shoulders Blair sat down next to Faith and changed his magazine.

“We need to get ‘uninvolved’,” he replied with a jerk of the head towards the building, “and soon.”

“I’m not arguing,” a sustained burst from a light machine gun riddled the already wrecked car with a new set of holes, “but the little bitch is in there and she’s our only lead to her sister.”

They had followed Dawn to the shopping mall only to be fired on from inside the building, they’d been trapped behind the car they were presently using for cover for five or ten minutes. It didn’t look as if they were going anywhere soon; Faith was beginning to think she’d made a big mistake letting the girl go. The plan had been to follow her in the hopes that she’d lead them to her sister, all they’d been led to was a fire fight they couldn’t win.

“We need help,” Faith stood up and blazed away at where she thought the man with the light machine gun was, she ducked down quickly as a long burst of fire showed her just how wrong she was, “fuck!” she cursed.

0=0=0=0

Dawn had gone to the mall because it was familiar territory; she couldn’t go home, her parents lay dead on the kitchen floor and she couldn’t handle that; not now, not alone. She really wanted her sister to make it all right, to hug her and tell everything would be fine, that she’d deal with everything and not to worry. Instead of her sister she found the mall full of soldiers and townspeople armed with guns. It seemed that the Mayor had opened the militia armouries and had handed out weapons to anyone who wanted to fight the British.

The mall was a big well built building in the centre of Valle del Sol; a group of regular soldiers from the base near the town had started to fortify it. People had sort of gravitated towards it as a symbol of resistance against the invaders. The forces inside were already causing the British problems as the mall was on the main road from the docks to the university which the British seemed very interested in capturing. Dawn had also heard that the invaders had blown up Buffy’s high school; what were they trying to do, ruin everyone’s education?

“Hey girl!”

Looking up Dawn saw a soldier leading a half dozen armed civilians towards the fighting, he came over to the doorway where she was crouching and looked down at her.

“What are you doing here girl?” the soldier spoke kindly to her noting her slightly shocked and dazed expression, “It’s dangerous you should get away home.”

“Can’t,” Dawn drew her knees up to her chin, “I can’t go home I’m looking for my sister.”

“I see,” the soldier nodded as he knelt down next to her, he rested his hand on her arm. “Look, you can’t stay here,” he turned around to his little group of volunteers, “hey Iago,” he waved a stooped grey haired old man over, “take this girl down to the aid station.” He looked back at Dawn, “They’re getting all the women and kids out through the sewers before the British block them off…you’ll be safe then.”

The old man took Dawn by the arm and led her off towards the stairs leading to the basement; Private First Class Martinez watched them go for a moment before turning back to his little force.

“That’s what we’re fighting for,” he gestured at the old man and the young girl, there were mutters of agreement from the men who clutched their weapons more tightly, “come on then lets teach these British dogs a lesson.”

0=0=0=0

**A street not far from the mall, 12:06hrs.**

Sitting with his head and shoulders out of his hatch, Sergeant Dale reflected on how much he hated street fighting. This was no place to deploy tanks particularly his brand-spanking-new Centurion Mk3; he swung the commander’s machine-gun around into a position where it could be more easily reached. No, (thoughts of burning vehicles filled his imagination for a moment) this was no place for tanks. The streets were too narrow for one thing; in most places there was no room to traverse the turret with its long twenty pounder gun even if he did spot some Mex creeping up on him. Yes, in areas like this any idiot with a bazooka could make a hero of himself and Sergeant Dale’s wife a widow.

0=0=0=0

**Another street near the mall, 12:08hrs.**

Walking around the street corner Xander stopped dead in his tracks and nearly dropped his rifle as Buffy and Willow walked into his back. Turning back the way he had come he tried to push the girls ahead of him.

“RUN!” he yelled as Buffy automatically tried to grapple with him thinking he was playing some foolish game, “T-TANK!” he screamed into her face.

“What sort of…” the grin faded from Buffy’s face as she saw the front idler of the tank appear from around the corner.

Recovering quickly Buffy grabbed Willow’s arm and dragged her down the street as more and more of the big green and black monster stuck its nose around the corner of the street. Xander ran on behind the girls glad to see that Buffy had seen the danger and was trying to drag Willow to safety. For a moment he considered stopping and taking a shot at the monster that was even now turning into the same street as the one they were on. No, he thought, that would be foolish…that would only make it angry! He wondered for an instant why he was thinking of it as a creature, these thoughts were quickly forgotten as a burst of machine-gun fire cracked by over his head.

0=0=0=0

“Right stick,” Dale ordered his driver, the tank started to swing around the corner demolishing a little of the building on its right, “straight down the road here Richardson and…BLOODY HELL!”

Grabbing for his machine-gun Dale sent a wild burst of fire over the heads of the Mexican soldier and the two civilians running down the street ahead of him.

“HALT!” he yelled needlessly into his microphone, while down in the driver’s compartment Trooper Richardson winced at the volume of the order blasted straight into his ears. “Look,” continued Sergeant Dale at a more reasonable sound level, “I’ve just seen some dagos run down here. We’re going to follow them, everyone keep their eyes open.”

0=0=0=0

Skidding around another corner Xander found himself being yanked by the arm into a doorway where Buffy and Willow were already sheltering.

“What do we do?” pleaded Buffy; Willow just stood there her eyes wide with fear.

Why’s she asking me? Was the first thing that came to Xander’s mind, Buffy was the one who usually gave the orders. Then it dawned on him that she was a lost as he’d been the first time he’d found himself facing a monster; while Buffy could face all the fiends from hell without blinking an eye she was just a frightened girl when it came to facing tanks; just like him…not the frightened girl part he corrected himself. Xander mentally slapped himself across the face, he had to do something, and he could hear the tank getting closer.

Looking around Xander saw that they were in one of the many little plazas that had recently been built in this part of town when it had been redeveloped a few years ago. There was a fountain in the middle surrounded by benches and shade trees, a cobbled road way separated the plaza proper from the three and four story building that surrounded it. Maybe if they could get into one of the buildings they could hide until the tank went away. It was then that he noticed the abandoned army jeep on the other side of the square.

“Over there!” he pointed and started to run for the jeep.

0=0=0=0

“Coming up to a corner,” Dale leant forward out of his hatch trying to see around the corner, of course he couldn’t, instead he settled for passing more unnecessary orders to his driver, “slow down…easy does it.”

Suddenly Dale found himself looking at a small tree filled square surrounded by tall houses anyone of which could contain a bazooka team ready to turn his pride and joy into his funeral pyre.

“Driver halt!” he called into his mike, the tank jerked to a halt, “Gunner traverse right,” the tank’s gun barrel swept to the right, “…steady…ON!” it came to a halt pointing across the plaza.

“Twist,” Dale called to his gunner, “Can you see anything?”

The gunner’s position being lower than Dale’s which meant that Trooper Twist might be able to see under the lower branches of the trees that blocked Dale’s view.

“Jeep on the other side of the square,” replied Twist after a moment.

“Co-ax! Jeep on! Fire!” cried Dale.

“LOADED!” there was a ‘clack-clang!’ and the loader, Trooper Philpot, cocked the tank’s co-axial machine-gun.

“Firing…NOW!” the machine-gun burst into life, the bullets kicking up dust and cobblestones all around the jeep.

The little car-like vehicle rocked from side to side and started to burn as the heavy bullets slammed into its side. Satisfied that the jeep was no longer a threat Twist stopped firing.

“Target!?” he called up to Dale a hint of pride in his voice.

“Target, stop!” agreed Dale and for a moment the only sounds in the plaza were those made by the merrily burning jeep and the tank’s rumbling engine.

0=0=0=0

Trying to make themselves as small as possible Xander, Buffy and Willow hid behind the big, concrete planter that held one of the shade trees as the tank shot up the jeep. They had quickly found out that the reason the jeep had been abandoned was that there was something wrong with the engine. What Xander couldn’t understand was why someone had left a perfectly serviceable bazooka in the back of the jeep. He had grabbed the launcher while Buffy had picked up a box full of rockets as easily as she would have picked up her hand bag.

As he had tried to remember how the bazooka worked the tank had halted on the corner and shot up the broken down jeep. They had crouched there with their hands over their heads as the jeep was reduced to scrap, when all was quiet again Xander peered over the top of the planter to see the tank moving slowly further into the plaza.

“Don’t you know how this thing works?” Willow looked accusingly at Xander.

“Look,” he replied his panic rising as the tank got closer, “we had one lecture on it for god’s sake!”

“Hey,” Buffy ripped open the box of rockets and held one up, “these obviously go into the thingy here!” She slid a rocket into the rear of the launcher until it clicked into place.

“But what do you do with these wires?” Xander gestured at the two wires that hung from the rear of the rocket.

Luckily for the three heroes the tank seemed to be in no hurry to cross the plaza, however, the tank’s gun barrel kept pointing ominously towards them.

“Let me see,” Willow cast her eyes over the rear of the launcher, she noted the small box near where the tube of the bazooka flared and the tail of the rocket rested, “here,” she quickly connected the wires to the terminals on the box, “You’re good to go,” she taped Xander on the shoulder.

Lifting the launcher to his shoulder Xander put this eye to the sight; he almost didn’t need it the tank was so close. He placed the simple cross hairs on the front of the tank’s tracks; he’d heard somewhere that it was best to aim for the tracks. He pulled the trigger; there was a roaring ‘whoosh!’ as the rocket sped down the barrel followed almost immediately by a ‘BANG!’ as the warhead exploded against the side of the tank.

0=0=0=0

“FUCK SAKE!” yelled Sergeant Dale as his world was suddenly filled with smoke, flame and noise.

He looked down into the turret to see the white faces of his gunner and loader staring back up at him through the dust filled interior.

“What the fuck was that?” Richardson’s voice coming from the driver’s compartment snapped Dale out of his shock and he began to take stock.

“Everyone alright?” he asked, he got a thumbs up from both of the turret crew, nothing appeared to be on fire so… Looking up he saw the three Mexicans from earlier jumping up and down and cheering.

“Right you bastards,” Dale snarled, “shoot at my tank would you?” He glanced down into the turret, “Get ‘em Twist!”

Trooper Twist looked through his sight to see the Mexicans jumping about and waving their arms in the air, suddenly he realised that two of the ‘dagos’ weren’t men.

“Sarg’t!” he called up to Dale, “that dago bastard is using two girls as shields!”

“Can’t be helped, fire!” replied Dale coldly.

“Firing…NOW!” Twist stamped down on the foot peddle that would fire the co-axial machine-gun, nothing happened.

Quickly he squeezed the trigger on his elevation hand wheel; much to his and everybody else’s surprise the main armament went off with a deafening ‘CRACK!’

0=0=0=0

“You hit it! You hit it!” Willow threw herself at Xander and kissed him on the lips passionately.

Xander felt something like a sledge hammer hit him on the back as Buffy pounded him hard enough to push his spine through to his chest. The bazooka fell to the ground; he stood up unsteadily as he was being mobbed by the two girls who he loved more than anything in the world. He looked over at the tank in shocked surprise, smoke obscured most of it but it was obvious that he had most definitely hit it.

His joy at destroying the enemy tank (and realisation that the old saying was true; girls did like a guy in uniform) turned to fear as he saw the tank’s gun barrel move towards him; he pushed Buffy and Willow away just as his world went bright white, he never heard the tank’s main armament fire.

0=0=0=0

Finding herself sitting on her butt on the cobblestones Willow looked around for Xander. Her world had turned white and orange and yellow as a great noise seemed to blast her to the ground after Xander had pushed her. All she could hear now was a high pitched ringing in her ears and she appeared to be covered in something red and sticky. She wiped at the stuff on her arms and it smeared onto her palms as she tried to stand up.

Noticing Buffy standing in front of her she saw that her friend was also covered in the icky red stuff, but she couldn’t see Xander anywhere…he’d been standing just in front of her when…when… Willow held her hands out to Buffy and started to scream a thin wail of despair escaped her lips as she realised that the boy she’d known all her life was gone.

0=0=0=0

Standing up Buffy shock her head to rid herself of the ringing in her ears, almost immediately it started to fade and she could hear the sound of the tank’s engine and the squeaking of its tracks as it drove out of the plaza. Looking down at herself she saw she was covered in something red. She’d seen enough blood in her short life to know instantly what it was and where it had come from. She looked up at the cry of hurt that was torn from Willow’s soul as she realised what had happened to her childhood friend.

Tears ran down Willow’s face making the blood run in little rivers across her cheeks. Taking a firm hold of Willow’s arms she pulled the girl towards her. Putting an arm around her waist Buffy pulled her friend towards the road opposite to the one the tank had taken.

0=0=0=0

“Very inventive of you Trooper Twist,” Dale shook his head as they motored down a road and away from the little square.

“Thanks Sarn’t.” Twist’s voice floated up from the depths of the turret over the sound of the engines.

“Yes very clever,” agreed Dale, “but in future I don’t think we’ll use twenty pounder armour piercing rounds as anti-personnel weapons!”

0=0=0=0

**The Mall, 12:49hrs.**

Having been left in the basement aid station of the mall by the old man, Dawn found herself with too much time to think and remember. Every time she closed her eyes it seemed she could see her parents lying on the kitchen floor their blood slowly staining the sheet that had been placed over their bodies. If she managed to stop thinking about her murdered parents her mind started to work on what had happened to her sister. She tortured herself with a hundred different scenarios each depicting Buffy’s gruesome death at the hands of the British killers who’d killed Mama and Papa. Buffy had to be dead, because if she’d been alive she’d have found her by now.

A woman came and shook Dawn’s shoulder, when she looked up the woman told her they were going to get out of the mall. Dawn listened to the sound of gunfire and explosions from above and for the first time noticed the steady stream of wounded being brought down into the safety of the basement.

She was led along a corridor and into a room where she was pushed towards a manhole. Climbing down a metal ladder set into the wall she found herself in a long tunnel full of pipes and cables lit only by a few flickering light bulbs. Her numbed mind told her these must be the service tunnels under the town that Buffy hunted monsters in. A voice from up ahead called for everyone to keep up and stay together. The little group of women and children started off down the tunnel and Dawn soon found herself lost and alone in an ill lit underground passageway. Slumping to the floor she buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

0=0=0=0

**Somewhere in the back streets of Valle del Sol, 12:52 hrs.**

After dragging Willow along the deserted streets well away from the plaza Buffy stopped and looked around. In the air above her she could hear and see aircraft buzz low over the town, none of them were Mexican. In the distance she could hear the almost continual crackle of gunfire punctuated by the louder bangs of explosions. Smoke rose into the air all around her staining the bright blue sky with its black sooty fingers. Looking up and down the street she saw what she wanted, towing Willow the few yards Buffy reached down and removed the heavy iron manhole cover with an easy flick of the wrist.

“Come on Willow,” she said gently as she guided her unresisting friend down into the dark, “it’s time for me to fight back.”

Buffy climbed down into the underworld that lay beneath Valle del Sol and started to plan her campaign of revenge.

0=0=0=0

“If you were this Asesina girl,” Faith sat on the road with her back resting against the tracks of a Bren gun carrier, “where would you go?”

Sergeant Blair scratched his head as he bit into a chocolate bar and thought for a moment or two.

“I suppose I’d go somewhere I was comfortable,” he said through a mouthful of chocolate, “somewhere safe I could plan maybe somewhere I’d stashed weapons.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Faith nodded her head, “right; she can’t go home nothing there and if she was at school it would be easier to head this way. The RFC blew up her school and closed the anomaly, so there’s nothing to go back to there.”

“She might go look for her sister,” pointed out Blair.

“Damn! Forgot about her,” Faith lapsed into silence.

Things had not been going well; in fact the mission had been a right balls-up from start to finish. Attack the wrong house, and then when they got to the right house they’d lost Hobson and killed the Asesina’s parents then lost her little sister in the fighting. Talking of which they’d spent far too much time fighting the locals and not enough looking for their target.

Trying to put herself in the Asesina’s position Faith ran her fingers through her hair, it felt gritty and full of tangles, god did she need a bath! Visions of soaking in a hot tub filled her mind for a moment followed by a vision of dirty bath water going down the drain.

“DRAINS!” she cried out startling Blair.

“What?”

“That’s were I’d be,” Faith grinned at her friend, “when I worked Boston looking for ‘vores I seemed to spend most of my life in the sewers! Bet she’s got a hide out somewhere…come on.”

Climbing to her feet Faith collected up her weapons and pulled Blair to his feet.

“Get Collins and Weatherby, we’re going ‘down below’!” she started to look around for a manhole cover.

0=0=0=0


	6. Chapter 6

6.

**Under Valle del Sol, 14:13hrs.**

Yawning and stretching Angel got up from his bed and looked around his little sleeping chamber where he spent his days. The humans were being particularly noisy today and had woken him hours before dusk would fall. He switched on the radio that stood on the table in the corner of the room and waited for it to warm up. He frowned when all he heard was a high pitched wail; reaching for the dial he swept quickly through the different stations, all he heard was more interference.

He washed and dressed as he wondered what was going on, he could feel the human’s emotions as they scurried about above him. He could sense their fear, anger and pain; it made his mouth water and his stomach growl. He needed to feed, it didn’t matter that it was still daylight he had to have blood and soon, maybe he’d find someone working in the tunnels or in the cellars of the shops that surrounded his lair.

0=0=0=0

Walking briskly along the tunnels Angel could smell blood all around him it almost overwhelmed his senses, with a great effort of will he controlled his primal needs. It wouldn’t do now to spoil everything not after he’d spent so long grooming Buffy, no it wouldn’t do for her to find him covered in his victim’s blood; even she might start to think something was amiss.

He had been infected more than two hundred years age, his last memory as a human was riding through the woods on his father’s estate in Ireland. He’d seen the hole in the sky open and felt the ‘presence’ enter him. He still had the memories of that long gone human but now he was part of the ‘Great Mind’; although only a small part and hopelessly separated from the collective.

Of course ‘Angel’ wasn’t his real name; the human that he had infected had been called John Fitzgerald, the son of a wealthy and unpopular landowner in County Kerry. The first thing the newly infected John Fitzgerald had done was kill his entire family. Then he had travelled across Europe leaving a trail of destruction behind him. Of course this had brought him to the attention of the Hunters, as they were sometimes known. They had hunted him with dogged determination with their guns and their science; the ones sent by the cursed Nightwatch were the worst.

That was why he’d moved to Mexico, religion and superstition still held power here and it was beyond the reach of the Nightwatch bitches. The last hundred years had been fun, of course he’d had to change with the times; he’d had to give up living in his grand villa and live in this little underground chamber but it didn’t bother him, he was a vampire of simple tastes.

He laughed as he walked, he even thought of himself as a vampire, a creature from myth that the simple peasants used to explain his presence. They even believed that crosses and holy water could hurt him, he laughed again. It was all so funny and the Asesina de Demonios was funniest of them all. She had been so easy to convince, she’d been pathetically willing to believe the story he gave her. How he had a soul now, a soul? Ha! The idea was preposterous! How he’d not fed off a human for a hundred years or more; how he was looking for redemption, for forgiveness for his past sins.

Stopping to wipe the tears of mirth from his eyes Angel took a deep breath; he could smell girl, young virgin girl, close by too. Sniffing the air he found where her scent was strongest and turned to follow it down a side tunnel. Going back to his musings Angel grinned as he thought what he would be doing to Buffy very soon. Yes first he would seduce her then he would feed from her and then when she didn’t know what was happening he would infect her and she would become like him. It would be the crowning achievement of his long life to infect an Asesina de Demonios.

He was close now the smell of the girl’s fear and despair was almost overwhelming, maybe he would rape her first before feeding; after all terror made the blood taste so spicy and hot. He stopped in his tracks and stopped breathing; the girl’s scent was driving him wild with desire. Caution, he told himself, that was what had kept him one step ahead of the Hunters all these years, now was not the time to get himself killed over a teenage virgin. He walked slowly along the tunnel; he could hear her now, her ragged breathing and her occasional sob. He sniffed the air carefully; there was something familiar about her smell something…

Realisation dawned like a bright light in his head, the girl smelt of Buffy! His mind raced; what could this mean? Then he remembered, Buffy had a fourteen year old sister, he crept closer and sniffed experimentally. Yes! It was definitely Buffy’s scent underlying that of the girls. Oh this was precious; he had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stop the giggle from escaping and spoiling everything. The plan blossomed in his mind in an instant. He would befriend the girl and find Buffy, next he would take them to a little place he knew. He’d chain up Buffy and make her watch him torture and rape her little sister. Then he would infect the girl and let her feed off her own flesh and blood!

Turning the corner he saw the girl sitting huddled against the wall of the tunnel, he fought to put a concerned sympathetic expression on his face. He knelt down beside Buffy’s sister and placed a gentle had on her arm.

“Hi,” he smiled warmly as the girl turned her tear streaked face towards him, “what’s wrong?”

0=0=0=0

**Universidad de Valle del Sol, 15:00hrs.**

His boots ringing on the metal stairs Major Smith (not his real name or rank) walked through the shattered door into the underground lab. He was followed by a dozen men who apart from their normal military equipment carried cameras and other more exotic recording equipment. Smith, a man of average height and general appearance looked around the lab and smiled. The commandos hadn’t done too much damage; in fact they had done very little damage at all and were now setting demolition charges under the direction of a young officer.

“Lieutenant Moore?” Smith called as he walked towards the young officer.

Turning Moore read the stranger’s rank badges and saluted.

“Yes sir, that’s me,” he grinned at the senior office, “just getting ready to blow this hell hole to atoms.”

“Jolly good, old man,” Smith slipped into his ‘fatherly Major’ personae, “but you can leave this to me and my chaps now,” he returned Moore salute and saw the questions in the young man’s eyes.

“But sir…” Moore pointed down one of the side corridors.

“I know,” Smith put a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder and started to guide him towards the stairs, “it’s awful…but that’s why my chaps are here. We’ll document everything and make sure those bastards are held to account.” 

Smith nodded his head in the direction of the half a dozen white coated scientists sitting in a corner guarded by a couple of hard faced commandos.

“This sort of eugenics experimentation is in direct contravention of the Paris Accords.” Explained Smith, “Rest assured Mr Moore the guilty will be punished and those poor devils,” he gestured towards the far corridor, “will be looked after.”

“Well if you’re sure sir?” If the truth were told Moore would be more than happy to get himself and his men out of this underground torture chamber.

“Yes I’m sure,” Smith smiled again, “and congratulations on a job well done, I’ll make sure that your C/O hears about your good work. Now I really must get on, and your corporal upstairs could do with a hand keeping those damn students away from the house.”

“Right you are then Sir,” Moore brightened up at the idea of being able to get out of the lab. “My chaps and I’ll be off then,” he saluted and turned to go calling for his men to follow him.

0=0=0=0

Standing and watching the commando officer and his men leave Smith felt his number two come to stand next to him.

“Bright lad that,” Smith turned his head to look at his colleague, “knows when not to push too hard…he’ll go far.”

“I expect he will,” Captain Jones (also not his real rank or name) turned and walked over to the corridor were the creatures were kept, “pity we can’t take them with us…do you think the ‘eugenics’ story will hold?”

“It will if there’s no evidence to the contradict it,” Smith sighed, “our friends at Nightwatch are going to be hopping mad when we tell them we blew all this lot to kingdom come.”

“Can’t be helped,” Smith dodged some mucus that was spat in his direction, “we’ll document everything and hand it over to them once we’re back in London.”

“Right then we better get on,” agreed Jones he shook his head in despair, “so this was Project 314,” he sighed, “this sort of thing never turns out well. It almost makes you wish that they really were trying to make A-bombs instead of…” Jones’ voice trailed away to nothing as he gestured at the strange creatures in their cells.

“Indeed,” agreed Smith, “come on old chap time and tentacled monsters wait for no man.”

0=0=0=0

**Valle del Sol Docks, 15:42hrs.**

Watching as another freighter slowly settled to the bottom of Valle del Sol harbour Lord Lovat smiled to himself. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly, he congratulated himself on a job well done; the Marine Commandos had taken over the harbour with hardly a shot fired. The Royal Navy scuttling parties had moved with their usual speed and efficiency and were taking the ships out into the main channel and sinking them.

Royal Engineer’s demolition teams were preparing the dockside buildings and cranes for destruction; and further inland the Army Commandos had all reached their objectives and the paratroopers holding the perimeter were not having any significant difficulties holding off the rather piecemeal counter attacks being sent at them.

All in all, thought Lovat, this should all look pretty good in the papers tomorrow…except for the more left wing ones who’d call it ‘Imperialism of the worst kind’ or some similar nonsense. Well, Lovat sighed sadly as he watched another ship start her short journey to the bottom of the harbour. You couldn’t let the dagos get away with encouraging the wog’s to blow up your own people; no, that would never do.

“General!”

Turning at the sound of the familiar voice Lovat saw Colonel Singh, his chief of staff, hurry towards him.

“Trouble?” Lovat turned away from the harbour.

“Could be sir,” Singh held several message sheets in his great paw like hands and there was a frown on his dark bearded face, “here, see for yourself,” he handed the messages to Lovat.

Frowning Lovat read the messages through; in the north the Mexican paratroopers who had been attacking his perimeter nearly all day had finally got their act together and were starting to make some headway against his own Paras. Knowing how paratroopers fought no matter what country they came from the casualties up there must be terrible. In the south his paratroopers were supported by a squadron of the 3rd Light Dragoons in their new Centurion tanks. They were being pressed by what appeared to be an Armoured Cavalry Squadron with a possible Mechanised Infantry Brigade behind them.

“Air?” Lovat cast Singh a worried glance.

“The damned dagos are launching attacks from San Francisco against the fleet, and their ground forces are receiving more air support as each hour passes.” Singh consulted a notebook, “The KG5 has been hit by a couple of bombs and a few smaller ships have received damage. So far our jets have been able to hold the bulk of there air forces off but it won’t last sir.”

“No,” agreed Lovat, “I think its time to go,” he glanced at his watch, “it’s nearly quarter to four now so…” he thought quickly checking off the positions of his units on the map he held in his head. “Contact all units and tell them to put the withdrawal plan into operation starting at sixteen-fifteen.”

“Yes General I’ll start sending the messages now,” Singh turned to leave.

“Oh and Ajeet!” Lovat called after the officer.

“Sir?” Singh stopped and looked back at Lovat.

“We’ve got several little ‘special’ units working with us today remember,” Lovat smiled as he remembered a certain young woman who was a member of one of those units. “Make sure they don’t get forgotten about…wouldn’t do to leave anyone behind by accident eh?”

“Most bloody certainly not General,” Singh smiled and scurried off along the dock while Lovat turned and looked out to sea again for a moment.

Turning from the harbour Lovat glanced over at his personal piper.

“Black Bear, Pipe-Major!” he ordered as he walked towards his command vehicle.

“Aye, right you are sir!” Pipe-Major McBride thumped his bagpipes into life and started to play as he marched off after his General.

0=0=0=0

**Somewhere under Valle del Sol, 17:03hrs.**

“Come on Boss,” Blair looked at his watch as they crouched in the ill lit stinking tunnel, “we’re never going to find her…not like this.”

Making ‘ssh-ing’ signals with her hand Faith peered off into the gloom of the tunnel. She might not find the Asesina de Demonios, but she could feel a haemovore close nearby; and were there was a haemovore there was likely a Hunter or an Asesina close by. Ever since she’d been a teenager Faith had been able to sense…to feel a haemovore close by, it was like the cramps she got sometimes when she was having a bad period. It made her cranky, it made her want to fight and kill.

Not all Hunters could sense haemovores but she could, her first assignment for Nightwatch had been hunting down the bloodsuckers in Boston when she’d been sixteen or seventeen. Now she felt the familiar trill of the hunt, she turned and looked into Blair’s grubby face.

“Hey,” she smiled, “the recall signal’s been given and there’s a ‘vore somewhere up ahead. You take everyone back to the harbour and wait for me there. I’m going to kill the bastard then I’ll be right along.”

Looking at the floor of the tunnel Blair shook his head slowly.

“Can’t let you do that boss,” he smiled sadly into her face which was as grubby as his own, “I know you Hunters you get all suicidal and want to save the world, so, it’s my job to see you come back…no way am I going back to the docks without you.”

“Look I’m in charge,” complained Faith, “you’ll do as you’re told!”

“No,” replied Blair simply.

“Oh well if you feel that strongly about it?”

“I do.”

“Alright then,” Faith sighed, defeated, “you better come along…but only if you send Amy and Weatherby back, I mean someone’s got to get Hobson home.”

“I’ll see to it,” Blair turned and disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel while Faith checked her weapons.

0=0=0=0

**Another tunnel nearby, 17:10hrs.**

Having found a tap Buffy had succeeded in washing Xander’s blood off of herself and Willow; she was worried about her friend, she’d stopped crying not long after they’d got down into the tunnel but now… Now she was following Buffy around like a zombie, her silent staring eyes showing no sign of the vibrant intelligent girl who normally lived behind them. Buffy sighed sadly, obviously and hopefully just for now, Willow wasn’t at home.

“Come on Willow,” Buffy took her friend by the arm and led her along the tunnel, “we’ll be able to get out of here soon.”

Having hunted down in the tunnels since she was fifteen, Buffy knew them pretty well; she calculated that she was somewhere near the university and not far from where Angel had his home. With a wistful smile she remembered how they had hunted demons and vampires on the campus grounds together. It would be really nice to see his friendly face just now.

0=0=0=0

Buffy’s scent came to Angel’s nose as he led the brat along the tunnel to his lair. At least the girl had stopped complaining and whining about how she wanted to be with her sister. It had taken all of his self control not to drink her there and then just to shut her up.

His footsteps faltered for a moment as the smell of blood overwhelmed him for a second time that day. It seemed to fill the entire tunnel and it took an almost physical effort to stop his face from changing and ripping out the girl’s throat to glory in the hot spicy taste of her blood.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dawn noticing that the man who claimed to be Buffy’s boyfriend had almost fainted.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, “nothing…just felt a little dizzy that’s all.”

Looking down the tunnel Angel’s dark adapted eyes made out two figures coming along the tunnel towards him. He looked again and gasped in surprise. He smiled happily, things just got better and better. There, not fifty metres away was Buffy, and she’d brought more snacks!

0=0=0=0

**Yet another sewer, 17:15hrs.**

Half crouching and half standing Faith shuffled down the tunnel holding her Tommy-gun out in front of her. Haemovores were hard to kill; you could shoot them all day, but unless you hit something vital like the brain they had a tendency to heal and jump up and bite you on the arse…literally. But bullets hurt them and the big heavy .45 bullets used by her Tommy-gun would make a mess of any ‘vore. The old stories said you could kill them by sticking a stake through their heart; well, that tended to work on most things and Faith had tried it once but the ‘vore had just laughed at her. Holy water just got them damp and pissed off; crosses only worked if they were scared of them before they got infected.

No, Faith had found that the only certain way of dealing with a ‘vore was decapitation. She preferred to use a sword herself but it didn’t look as if there’d be room to swing one down here. However, she had a good knife and her wire garrotte, either would take a ‘vore’s head clean off. There was some argument as to whether Hunters were immune to whatever infected people and turned them into ‘vores. The science types didn’t know for sure, but, there was no record of a Nightwatch Hunter ever being infected. Maybe the (what had the boffin called it?) Intelligent Virus wasn’t clever enough to deal with a Hunter.

Stopping suddenly she held up her hand and turned to look at Blair who was right behind her; she made the hand signal for ‘vore’ and twenty yards. Then the signals for him to stay back and only intervene if she got into difficulties. He nodded his understanding before checking that the safety on his rifle was off.

Taking a deep breath Faith crawled forward until she came to a junction with a tunnel leading off to the left. This one was bigger than the one she was in and allowed her to stand upright. Edging along the side of the tunnel she could see light coming from somewhere on the right hand side of the tunnel, a room maybe, she could also hear voices. A man and a young woman by the sound of it, she crept closer, the feeling in the pit of her stomach was like a dull hot ache, a sure sign that a ‘vore was nearby. Almost at the door now Faith moved her head so she could catch a glimpse of whoever was in the room. She almost gasped out loud when she recognised Buffy La Asesina de Demonios, time to make her entrance she thought.

“Well lookie, lookie here,” Faith stepped out of the shadow and into the lighted doorway; she lifted her Tommy-gun to cover everyone in the room as she became the centre of attention. “What have we got here?”

The ‘vores face changed as he snarled and leapt towards Faith, shifting the muzzle of her Tommy-gun a fraction of an inch she fired filling the little room with flame and thunder.

0=0=0=0


	7. Chapter 7

7.

**A sewer somewhere under Valle del Sol, 17:17hrs.**

The heavy soft nosed slugs hit Angel in the stomach and knocked him off his feet and back against the far wall. Adjusting her aim a little Faith walked the bullets up the haemovore’s chest towards the evil creature’s neck and head. Just as the first round buried itself in the vile monster’s throat the weapon was kicked out of her hands by the blonde girl to her right.

“Hola.” Buffy grabbed hold of Faith’s shoulder and turned her to face her, “Mi nombre es Buffy Winters. Usted mató a mis padres,” she informed Faith coldly, “prepárese para morir.”

“Eh?” recovering quickly Faith just had time to dodge the blow that would have collapsed her windpipe and killed her.

“Perra!” spat Buffy as she aimed a kick for Faith’s ribs.

Blocking Buffy’s attack with her forearm Faith stepped back to give herself room to launch her own attack, only to find Buffy’s sister on her back. The girl punched at Faith ’s head ineffectually and Faith had to waste vital seconds elbowing the girl in the ribs and dislodging her giving her older sister time to land another flurry of blows to Faith ’s head and body.

Free of the younger girl Faith frantically parried Buffy’s kicks and punches until she saw an opening and launched her own attack. Her fist hit the Mexican girl squarely in the centre of her chest. Buffy doubled over as she staggered back a couple of paces and collided with the wall. Following up with a round house kick to the head Faith bounced on the balls of her feet as she came into the attack. She moved in on the winded Asesina, easily parrying Buffy’s weak attempts at a fight back. Faith reviewed the fight up to this point; the Mexican girl seemed to be all about the attack and no defence. Obviously she hoped to overcome her opponents rapidly with a quick and violent series of attacks. This was a good strategy if your opponent was weaker than you; against someone like Faith it could prove fatal.

Kicking the girls legs from under her Faith moved in to finish the fight before it had really begun; if she could render the girl helpless even for a moment she’d be able to inject her with the muscle relaxant and she’d be powerless. Raising her fist to knock the girl unconscious Faith heard a sound that made her freeze in mid-move.

“STAND STILL!”

Turning Faith saw that the redhead had grabbed her Tommy-gun from the floor and was pointing it at her with trembling hands. She watched the muzzle of the weapon as it drifted from her midriff up towards her head and back again. She tried to recall if the magazine was empty or not, but she couldn’t remember how many rounds she’d fired.

“Thanks Willow,” gasped Buffy as she climbed slowly to her feet, she looked over at her sister, “You alright Dawnie?”

“Yeah,” groaned the younger girl as she clutched her ribs, “I’ll be fine after a month or two in hospital.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Faith stood with her arms held out by her sides watching each of the women with quick movements of her eyes.

“Let me shoot her Buffy,” Willow looked over the sights of Faith ’s gun, “they killed Xander and your parents she deserves to die!”

“No!” Buffy tried to calm her friend, “lets not sink to their level…let me think.” Buffy turned to look down at Angel.

“Is he dead?” Dawn hobbled over to Buffy’s side still clutching her ribs.

“No,” Buffy bent to examine the haemovore, “bullets can’t kill him.

“What?” shocked at the implication Dawn stared at her sister, “You mean he’s…?!?!” the younger girl took a step away from Buffy and looked at her in a mixture of anger and disgust.

The red-head’s eyes flicked over to Buffy for just an instant and Faith thought about going for the pistol on her hip. However, she caught sight of Blair’s face as he peeped around the corner of the door; Faith drew everyone’s attention back to her.

“Hey!” she smiled pleasantly as everyone turned to look at her, “didn’t she tell you she was shagging a ‘vore?”

“What?” Dawn’s expression changed from confusion to outrage as she puzzled out what the New Englander had said.

“No Buffy! How could you?” Willow took her eyes off Faith to look straight at Buffy.

Stepping forward Faith caught hold of the barrel of the Tommy-gun and yanked it from Willow’s unresisting fingers before using the butt to punch the redhead in the stomach. Willow doubled over and collapsed to her knees just as Blair burst into the room and aimed his rifle at Buffy’s head.

“Alright!” Blair’s finger tightened on his trigger, “Lets not do anything rash now.”

Checking the magazine on her Tommy-gun Faith gulped as she saw the bright cartridges lined up and ready to go, she replaced the magazine with a full one noting that it was her last.

“Everybody up against the wall,” she ordered gesturing with the muzzle of her weapon.

Buffy helped Willow over to the wall, when she reached out with her hand to her sister the younger girl knocked it away and leant against the wall with her arms wrapped around her waist.

“What do you want to do with them,” Blair came fully into the little room, “and what about the ‘vore?”

“Don’t call him that!” cried Buffy, “It wasn’t his fault he got changed.”

“Yeah right,” Faith let her Tommy-gun hang by its sling as she searched for the hypodermic containing the tranquilliser and muscle relaxant, “and I bet he told you he hadn’t eaten anyone in years, right?”

“Yes!” Buffy cast a glance over to where Angel lay, “He said he wanted to make amends for all the evil he’d done. He helped me kill vampiros and demonios.”

“Yeah after he’d infected people,” the glass of the syringe grated under Faith ’s fingers and she cursed under her breath. “Damn! I don’t suppose you questioned any of these ‘vores before you ended them eh?”

“No,” Buffy looked uncertainly from Faith to where Angel still lay, “why’d I want to do that?”

“If you had,” Faith moved over to stand next to Blair, “you’d have found out who’d infected them…and I bet they’d all point to,” Faith jerked her thumb at the unconscious haemovore, “fang boy there.”

“But…” protested Buffy.

“I hate to say it,” Willow looked up from the floor where she had recovered slightly from the blow to her stomach, “but she’s probably right Buffy…you know what Padre Rupert said about vampires? They’re all damned once they change, they can’t be trusted they have to die before they can infect more people.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dawn, “at least tell me you didn’t…you know…with him.” The last was said with such venom that Buffy shrunk away from her younger sister.

“Way to go little sis,” Faith cheered.

“Shut your mouth concha!” Dawn snarled, “You killed our parents and if I ever get a chance I kill you!”

“Hey kid,” Faith held up her hands defensively, “that was an accident, look I’m sorry but your dad took a shot at me…”

“AND YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE!” Dawn yelled into Faith ’s face.

“Bugger me!” Faith smiled a little as the girl subsided, “Looks like little sis should’ve been La Asesina de Demonios instead of bimbo Buffy there.”

“Excuse me,” Blair butted in at this point, “this is all very interesting but we’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah,” Faith looked at Blair and held out her hand, “you got your hypo, mine’s fucked.”

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Buffy tried to back away from Faith but was stopped by the wall.

“Nothing much,” Faith replied reassuringly as she took the hypo from Blair, “just something to keep you quiet while we…!”

Faith never had time to finish what she was saying as Angel jumped up from the floor and grabbed hold of Dawn by the throat and lifted her off the ground.

“Angel!” shrieked Buffy as she stepped towards her erstwhile boyfriend.

“Not so fast, La Asesina,” croaked Angel his throat still damaged from Faith ’s earlier bullet, “one more step and I’ll pop you little brat sister’s head like a pimple!”

“But-but Angel,” the truth seemed to be dawning on Buffy slowly, “you said you loved me you wanted to…”

“HA!” Angel threw his head back and laughed as Dawn struggled weakly in his grasp, “and you believed me! Oh just how stupid are you puta?”

“Oh fuck this,” unnoticed in the confusion Faith had pulled her service revolver from its holster; now in one fluid motion too fast for normal eyes to follow she raised the weapon, aimed it at Angel’s head and fired.

The slug caught the haemovore right between the eyes and blew the top of his head off, more or less killing him on the spot. Dawn screamed as the ‘vore let go of her and she fell to the floor the back of her head covered in his blood and brains.

“You better me careful,” Faith nonchalantly blew smoke from the muzzle of her pistol before replacing it in its holster, “you better wash that off before any gets in your mouth of up your nose.”

Stepping forward she plunged the needle of the hypo into Buffy’s thigh.

“What the…?” gasped Buffy as she slowly collapsed to the floor and lay there and giggled quietly.

“What have you done to her?” demanded Willow who was now fully recovered from her earlier argument with the butt of Faith ’s Tommy-gun.

“Nothing much,” Faith pulled Buffy to her feet and supported her under her arms, “she’ll be fine in a few hours.” She looked from Willow over to Dawn, “Now if I were you I’d help my friend get that shit off her and don’t get any on yourself.”

Blair hustled the two Mexican women out of the room and down one of the passages, and watched them until they disappeared around a corner.

“Here,” Faith passed the limp giggling, form of Buffy over to Blair, then checked everyone for splashes of ‘vore blood. “We better get outta here,” she said after finding none.

“Jolly good idea,” Blair struggled with Buffy as he tried to guide her to the door, even a drugged and weakened La Asesina was something of a hand full.

Once Blair had left the room Faith swept it with her eyes; but saw nothing that looked important and anyway she was in too much of a hurry to do a proper search for anything interesting. Stepping out into the passageway she checked that Blair and Buffy were at a safe distance before pulling a phosphorous grenade from her harness, she pulled the door to the chamber almost closed.

“Fire can be our friend;” she told herself as she yanked the pin from the grenade, “whether it's toasting marshmallows,” she tossed the grenade into the room and slammed the door shut, “or roasting ‘vores.”

Listing for the soft ‘pop-hiss’ of the grenade going off she felt the metal door get noticeably warmer. Smiling at a job well done, Faith ran after Blair and relieved him of Buffy’s limp body.

“Come on,” she said as she lifted Buffy across her shoulder, “let’s get outta this dump.”

0=0=0=0

**Valle del Sol Municipal Park, 17:53hrs.**

After dumping Buffy’s body into a shell hole Faith looked across the deserted park. The once smooth lawns were pockmarked with shell holes and cut about with slit trenches and weapon’s pits. The ground was littered with discarded equipment and used field dressings, in the far corner of the park she could see the wreck of a burnt out helicopter. Another stood closer at hand; the inspection panels over its engine had been ripped off and left on the ground. Even to Faith ’s untrained eye she could see that it would never fly again; half its engine looked as if it was missing.

Tilting her head to one side she listened to the sounds of battle; they were much further away now closer to the docks than here. His ‘Generalship’ had ordered the withdrawal and the Mexicans must be following hard on the heels of the Commonwealth forces trying to prevent them from escaping. Turning she looked down at Blair who was sitting in the shell hole next to Buffy keeping an eye on their prisoner.

“Do you ever get the feeling we’ve missed the bus?” Faith jumped down into the hole.

“Hey!” Buffy grinned foolishly up at her captors, “You are in soooooo much trouble!” the girl giggled again before drifting off into some drug induced ‘happy-land’.

“You know,” Blair started to check his ammunition pouches, “she could be right, we could leave her here and make our way into Injun country.”

“Nah,” Faith shook her head as her fingers searched her own equipment harness for spare ammunition, “we’ll stay here for a while. After all the trouble we went through to get her I’m not giving her up so easy.”

Sitting down next to Blair, Faith pulled a slim black box from a pouch on her harness. The box was about the size of a paperback novel. It had a dial and a couple of knobs on its front surface and what looked like the on-off switch on the right hand side. There was a little glass window above the knobs on the front of the box. Faith pulled a long silver antennae from the top right hand edge of the box, pressed a button below the glass window then set the object down on the ground.

“Come on,” grinned Blair, “you’re dying to tell me what that is.”

“That,” Faith watched the black box as if she expected it to do something, “is a radio come homing beacon…or at least that’s what they told me it was.”

Looking suspiciously at the box Blair glanced back at Faith, he’d have to take her word for it. It wasn’t like anything he’d seen before; if it was a radio of some sort it was damn small, maybe ten or twelve times smaller than the smallest set he’d ever seen. He sat back against the wall of the shell hole and pulled the cap-comforter from his head, maybe it was one of those new ‘transistor radios’ that were coming out of Japan just now. Shrugging his shoulders he settled back to wait for either the Mexican army or the rescue helicopters to arrive.

0=0=0=0

**A Café somewhere in Valle del Sol, 18:36hrs.**

Rubbing a towel over her damp hair Dawn smiled her thanks to the woman who had dragged herself and Willow in off the street half an hour earlier. The woman, Senora Patrick, had seen them stumbling along the street, she’d rushed out of the little café she ran with her husband and dragged the girls inside. Once she’d seen the state the girls were in, covered with blood and reeking of the sewers she’d pushed them into the shower and found them clean clothes to wear. The act of fussing like a mother hen over the two strays was her way of taking her mind off what had happened to her husband who was in the militia.

“What’s going to happen Willow?” Dawn asked her sister’s friend quietly, Senora Patrick was out in the kitchen making tea.

“Don’t worry sweetie,” Willow put her arm around Dawn’s shoulder, “you can come and stay with me and my parents while we…” Willow paused unsure what she should say, “Well, until things get sorted out alright?”

Nodding dumbly Dawn went back to drying her hair. So much had happened today; it felt like her old life was over. In fact it would never be the same again; her parents killed, her sister kidnapped. Finding out that her sister, who she’d trusted more than anyone in the world had betrayed her; her calling and everybody she knew by befriending a vampire. That had been hard to take, no, her life would never be the same again. She hung on to Willow and wondered if she felt the same about Buffy now. Yes they were best friends, but could this sort of betrayal be forgiven…ever?

Wiping at her eyes with the corner of the towel Dawn wondered what she could do to pay back the people who had ruined her life by turning her into an orphan. She knew someone would look after her; either Willow’s family or someone else, she couldn’t remember any relatives that might take her in, but Padre Rupert would make sure she was alright. What could she do? She didn’t want to just sit back and let everyone else do all the work.

The idea came to Dawn quite suddenly, she could learn to fight…not like her sister she could never do that but…after all the Russians had women fighter pilots and snipers back in their war with the Germans. The British had women pilots who’d ferried aircraft across the Atlantic. Maybe she could be the air force’s first woman pilot. Then she could fly over the cursed British and rain death and destruction down on them from the skies. It would be hard there would be many obstacles to overcome but somehow she would succeed.

“Willow?” Dawn sniffed away her tears, “When everything gets back to normal…I mean when we get back to school…can you help be with my school work?”

“Sure,” Willow smiled at the younger girl, “sure I can.”

Yes, thought Willow, maybe the extra work would help fill the enormous Xander shaped hole that had been left in her life now he was gone.

0=0=0=0

**Valle del Sol Municipal Park, 18:57hrs.**

Firing a short burst at the muzzle flash in the darkness Faith ducked back down into the shell hole. Across the hole from her Blair fired steadily at the dark shapes that flitted from one bush to another as they worked themselves closer to where the Nightwatch agents had taken cover.

“If they’re coming,” Blair ducked down into the hole to change his magazine, “I wish they’d hurry up.”

“Yeah,” agreed Faith as her night enhanced eyes watched for movement, “me too.”

Seeing a man shape run towards a shell hole no more than twenty yards away from her own, Faith fired, her burst was cut short as her magazine ran dry. She was, however, gratified to see the figure fall to the ground and lie still.

“I’m out!” she called and pulled her Webley from the holster on her hip.

“I’ve only got fifteen rounds left,” admitted Blair, he drew his own revolver and tossed it to Faith along with what spare pistol ammunition he had. “Look we’re stuffed if we stay here.”

“Y’not wrong,” agreed Faith as she fired off a couple of quick shots to keep the Mexican’s heads down.

“You take the girl,” Blair nodded at Buffy, “and make a run for it…I’ll keep ‘em busy here.”

Her rejection died on her lips when Faith realised Blair was right. The Mexican girl was hardly any weight and wouldn’t seriously slow her down. She should be able to get out of the park then lose herself in the town. Maybe work her way to the coast and make her escape in a boat or something. By the morning when the effects of the drugs wore off, they would be out on the Pacific and the local girl wouldn’t start a fight not out there.

“Alright,” Faith gave her friend a curt nod and started to strip off any useless gear, “here,” she tossed Blair a couple of spare grenades. “Keep ‘em busy as long as you can then surrender right? No heroics.”

She saw Blair’s teeth in the darkness as he grinned at her.

“No heroics Boss,” he agreed

Just as he was about to turn to give Faith covering fire, something hissed through the darkness and landed with a thump in the bottom of the hole.

“GRENADE!” Screamed Blair as he jumped up and dived on the little explosive egg.

There was a muffled explosion and a puff of smoke as Blair’s body was hurled like a bloody rag doll across the hole.

“Shit,” cursed Faith as she stared numbly at her dead friend, “what you go an’ do that for?” the words caught in her throat, “I told you no heroics!”

Getting up on her knees Faith emptied both her revolvers into the night, “BASTARDS!” she screamed after the bullets that cut down the three Mexican soldiers who had tried to take advantage of the grenade attack.

“Bastards,” she sighed more quietly as she slumped back into the hole and automatically started to reload her weapons.

This looked like this was it, thought Faith; she had no intention of giving the Mexicans another hostage. The time had come to step up to the wicket and play the game…and any other silly phrase that they said in war films at times like this. She smiled resignedly across at the sleeping form of the Mexican girl.

“Lucky bitch,” Faith closed her reloaded revolvers, “you’ll just wake up in the morning with a hangover.”

Faith sighed she’d not put it off any longer and got herself ready, pistol in each hand, to run from the hole and take her chances. She looked once more at Buffy.

“I don’t suppose you know any good patriotic songs eh?” she raised an eyebrow at the sleeping girl, “No, I didn’t think so,” Faith sighed and breathed the words of a song she’d heard the commandos singing, “Of all the great diseases, there’s none that can compare, with the drip, drip, drip of a swollen dick of a British Grenadier!” 

Just as she put her foot on the lip of the shell hole to boost herself out onto the flat ground, the sound of helicopter engines came to her ears, she flopped back down into the shelter of the hole.

“Thank fuck for that!” she gasped as she looked over at Buffy, “Shit, another couple of seconds and I’d have done something really stupid and heroic!”

0=0=0=0


	8. Chapter 8

8.

The Epilogue.

**November 29th 1949. The Grand Hotel, Vancouver, 07:32hrs.**

Slipping from between the sheets Faith padded quietly across the incredibly posh hotel room, the deep pile carpet muffled her already quiet footsteps to nothing. Waiting until she had closed the bathroom door behind her before turning on the light Faith used the toilet then stepped into the shower. Letting the hot water cascade over her body and wash away the sweat of last night’s sex she sighed contentedly. Sex with Shimi was always satisfying and energetic and…and just so freaking GOOD! Faith giggled to herself and then sobered as she reached for the soap; of course she’d have to put an end to it, his Lordship was getting far too attached to her and it would never work out.

0=0=0=0

Stepping out of the shower Faith wrapped a towel around her body and another around her hair. Opening the door she walked out into bedroom and saw Shimi watching her from the bed.

“Hi,” she smiled as she strolled across the room to sit at the dressing table, she watched her soon to be ex-lover in the mirror.

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you Faith?” Lovat sounded more confused than upset.

“How did you guess?” Faith started to dry her hair while watching Shimi in the mirror.

“Oh you know,” Shimi smiled, “little things, you know?” he shrugged, “You’re a hunter, a soldier…it’s like when you know the enemy’s about to spring a trap or…well...” he shrugged helplessly.

“It’d never work,” Faith stopped drying her hair and sat for a moment with her hands in her lap, “it’s been a lovely couple of weeks, but soon you’d find yourself proposing to me, and then there’d be the scandal.” She laughed lightly, “I can see the headlines in the ‘Scandal-rags’ now; Famous Lord marries Prostitute’s Daughter! And hey I’d never learn which knife or fork to use, or I’d slap the King on the back too hard or…”

“Who said I’d marry you,” Shimi smiled at Faith ’s reflection, “I was going to keep you locked up in my castle and…and, well I’m sure I could find some use for you.” Slowly the smile faded from his lips, “So where will you go next?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Faith started to pull a brush through her hair, “wherever they send me. I’ve got some leave coming up, thought I’d spend it with a friend in New Hampshire, catch the Canadian Pacific Pullman or something.”

“Man friend?” asked Lovat.

“No…no, old girlfriend,” there she’d been right, end it now, she’d caught the look in his eyes just now; he’d get over her, “ex-hunter actually.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice for you,” he shifted in bed and reached for the phone, “shall I have room service send up breakfast?”

“Umm,” Faith turned to look at Shimi, “No, no-thanks, I think I’ll just go.”

0=0=0=0

**Alexander Harris Plaza, Valle del Sol, March 1950.**

“Was it really bad?” Willow asked as she and Buffy stared at the place where Xander had died.

The army had never found enough of his body to fill more than a shoe box but they’d given him a hero’s funeral anyway. Buffy had seen the pictures in the Mexican newspapers her jailers had let her have. She’d seen the pictures of Xander’s weeping mother his father trying to look stoic and strong. She knew from the letters Willow had sent her that Xander’s father had started to drink heavily and the family business was beginning to suffer.

The authorities had needed a hero, and they had needed an Anglo hero all the more and Xander had fit the bill. Some people had said that the Anglo’s hadn’t fought hard enough against the British which was why they’d been able to walk all over the defences. So the story of the seventeen year old Anglo boy who had ‘destroyed’ one of the British monster tanks single handily (Buffy’s and Willow’s part in the affair was mostly forgotten). The fact that he hadn’t actually destroyed the tank was also glossed over. Now on every street corner souvenir vendors would sell you pictures of a handsome square jawed Xander bravely standing up against the might of British imperialism. If Buffy didn’t feel so numb she’d have laughed…Xander would have laughed too.

“Buffy?” Willow cast her friend a concerned look.

“Sorry,” Buffy shook her head to rid it of the ghosts that haunted her. “No it was all very civilised, they kept me on a military base and I had a room in the Officer’s Mess. The only bad thing they did was keep injecting me with this stuff to keep me weak so I couldn’t escape.”

“So they didn’t torture you or anything?” Willow almost sounded disappointed.

“No,” Buffy smiled and turned away from the spot where her friend had…had stopped being.

The two young women walked across the little plaza towards where they where rebuilding the Mall.

“Any news of your father?” Buffy asked as they walked slowly along.

“No, nothing,” Willow looked sadly down at the cobblestones for a moment, “the British say he’s not a prisoner, and the government say he’s not amongst the dead, and the university doesn’t seem that interested in finding him.”

Buffy linked her arm through Willow’s and made sympathetic noises.

“Funny though,” Willow’s eyebrows drew together, “there was no trouble about paying out the insurance even without a body, and Mama got a really good job at the university running the Estates Department…maybe they felt guilty or something.”

Willow lapsed into silence for a minute.

“What was your father working on?” Buffy asked as they walked by the building site that would be the new mall.

“Something called Project 314,” Willow shrugged her shoulders, “he didn’t talk about it much, very secret y’know?”

They walked on in silence for a minute or two.

“What’re you going to do now Buffy?”

“Oh,” Buffy sighed, “once Padre Giles stops being pissed at me for that thing with Antonio…he’ll no doubt want me to do some penance or something. God how could I be so stupid?”

“Yeah,” agreed Willow.

“I’ll go back to school,” move back home with Dawn…or maybe sell up and get somewhere smaller,” Buffy gave her friend a sad look, “Dawn’s still pretty cut up about Mama and Papa…then,” Buffy sighed again, “we’ll see...”

The two young women walked arm in arm down the street and disappeared into the crowd.

THE END.


End file.
